


Beneath The Eagle's Wings

by roryheadmav



Category: Actor RPF, hiddlesworth - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Rome, Hiddlesworth, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Religion, Religious Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:04:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1679177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryheadmav/pseuds/roryheadmav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Hiddlesworth Gladiator Fic inspired by the arts of Velvet-Toucher on Tumblr. A stubborn gladiator meets a handsome, mysterious Roman with a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath The Eagle's Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Velvet-Toucher](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Velvet-Toucher).



> This historical AU fic was inspired by the Gladiator Chris/Master Tom arts of Velvet-Toucher, which you can find at the following links http://velvet-toucher.tumblr.com/post/80878388324/i-drew-this-sketch-in-my-spare-time-tom-is-a, http://velvet-toucher.tumblr.com/post/81174214459/more-gladiator-chris-dominus-tom-sketchs-tom-is, http://velvet-toucher.tumblr.com/post/81618922369/since-i-dont-have-enough-time-to-draw-the-whole, and http://i975.photobucket.com/albums/ae234/footballmoe/gladiator4_zpsf8e97794.jpg~original.
> 
> Velvet-Toucher was privileged to read the draft of this story as I was writing it. I am very happy and grateful that she trusted my vision for this story and gave me rein to write it as I saw fit. 
> 
> Basically, I wrote this story as a sequel of sorts to two Biblical films--"The Robe" and "Demetrius And The Gladiators". Tom's father in this fic, Marcellus Gallio, is the character played by Richard Burton in "The Robe". Demetrius, of course, is Victor Mature.
> 
> I will admit that I was dismayed the first time I posted the draft on Tumblr. Apparently, someone didn't think this is a Hiddlesworth story just because I didn't name Chris' and Tom's characters as "Chris" and "Tom." According to my research, the earliest form of "Christopher" was the Late Greek "Christophoros". "Thomas" is also a Greek name. The setting of this story is Ancient Rome at the time of Caligula, during the early years of the persecution of the Christians. Naturally, I needed to use a Hebrew and Roman name which are close to the meanings of their names, that is why they ended up becoming Mashiach and Didymus. It would've been historically incorrect to use "Chris" and "Tom". 
> 
> To Velvet-Toucher, here is the final product. I hope you will love this complete story, as much as I enjoyed writing this for you. :)

**BENEATH THE EAGLE'S WINGS**

**Copyright May 24, 2014 by Rory**

 

 

Didymus Gallio has long been waiting for a sign. Praying for it, in fact, although he harbored no expectations from what has become for him a nightly ritual. After all, no god has ever bothered to listen to his prayers, certainly not from a man like him.

 

So, when the sign finally came as he was passing through the slave market on his Roman palanquin called a _lectica_ , Didymus wanted to laugh at the absurd ethereal majesty of it.

 

For reasons which the Roman could only call divine, the sun cast its golden beams upon a single man standing on the stage of the slave auction. He was a Jew, his skin somewhat darkened from frequent sun exposure. He was ruggedly handsome with a light beard, his dark brown hair reaching down to his shoulders. With his heavy build, the man was cut out to be a fighter.

 

Didymus could barely conceal his amused smirk, seeing the man sweating from the sun's heat directed solely at him while the others beside him were not at all affected. Who'd ever thought that the Lord Almighty had a sense of humor?

 

Perhaps the Jew sensed his scrutiny, because he turned his gaze toward him. There was no mistaking the hostility in his eyes. And yet, in the golden glow of sunlight, he seemed like an angel.

 

"Demetrius," he gestured to the old soldier marching beside his palanquin with his usual intense alertness. When the armored warrior drew near, Didymus pointed to the scowling slave. "I want him."

 

Demetrius swiveled his head curiously toward the stage to see what had caught the young Roman's interest, but just as quickly turned back, a dark grimace on his face. "No."

 

"Demetrius…" Didymus wheedled.

 

"Absolutely not." He pointed to a distinguished old gentleman wearing a toga who was also eyeing the Jew. "That's Caesar's man, Marcus Gurges." Demetrius cocked his head in the direction of the imperial palace, a towering edifice of marble and granite at the center of the city. "If he's here, that means Caligula is intent on buying that slave. He would be most displeased if you purchase this Jew right from under his nose. Even if Caesar wasn't interested in him, I wouldn't spend a single denarius on him based on that disagreeable look on his face alone."

 

"Yes, he has such an animated face, doesn't he? You can clearly see how much he hates me."

 

"Then why are you so interested in him? We could find other, more compliant slaves whom we could train for the games."

 

Didymus gazed into Demetrius' eyes, his face mirroring his determination and absolute certainty.

 

"He's the one," was his simple answer.

 

Demetrius stilled at these words, but the Roman's expression was unwavering.

 

"I'll see what I can do," Demetrius said, nodding.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

That evening, Mashiach Ben-Alharon lay on his cot inside his barred cell, thinking about the events that transpired during the day. It took only two encounters for the Jew to formulate very disagreeable opinions on the character of the man who became his _Dominus._

 

The first encounter was at the Roman slave market where he and other captives were to be sold into servitude to a wealthy master or to be trained as gladiators. Because of his height and brawn, it was obvious that Mashiach was destined to fight in the arena.

 

As he stood on the platform on display with the other slaves, Mashiach saw him at the periphery of the crowd, lounging with the languidness of a cat in the shaded comfort of his lectica. Standing beside the palanquin was an African slave who cooled him with a big fan made of peacock feathers.

 

The Roman was between 18 to 20 years old, Mashiach estimated, for he still retained the comeliness of a boy. Even if he were to grow older, he would remain a striking masculine beauty. His reddish blond hair was cropped short, as was the fashion among the nobility, but even with its length, his hair formed soft waves and curls at the top of his head. Like most spoiled young men of privilege, he was slender of build, the folds of his white and purple striped toga draped alluringly over his figure.

 

There was an undisguised smile on the man's lips, his perusing gaze a clear sign of his interest in the Jew. Mashiach returned that lustful gaze with a taunting glare. More than anything, he wanted to shove that huge fan down the Roman's throat.

 

His reticence and blatant hostility, however, merely amused the Roman, who promptly summoned forth his retainer, gesturing in the direction of the Jew. The retainer—no, correction, his Chief Guard, for this stern older man wore armor—shook his head, nodding toward the imperial palace in the distance. It seemed the emperor was interested in buying him as well. The young man, though, was insistent and waved his escort off toward the platform.

 

It did not take long before the guard was among those inspecting him, squeezing his arms and legs to test the firmness of his muscles and forcing his mouth open to check his teeth. The man even cupped and hefted his loins in his hand to test his potential as a breeder. Mashiach endured this indignity through gritted teeth, his sharp blue eyes focused on that foppish figure in the palanquin.

 

The bidding war for him barely registered inside his mind, but the ferocity in the Roman's face was indicative enough of his determination to buy him.

 

What snapped him out of his angry trance was the shouted word, **_"SOLD!"_** , and Mashiach was taken down from the stage and shackled with other purchased slaves. He was not sure if the young man had been the one to buy him; once the bidding was concluded, the curtains of his lectica were pulled closed and he was carried away.

 

The second encounter took place when Mashiach was delivered to his owner, together with a small group of slaves. They were brought to a modest estate and hustled through the gates. The Chief Guard was waiting for them, who commanded his men that the new slaves be taken to the barracks.

 

On the way, they passed along the side of a sprawling garden where a feast was taking place. Sitting on the dais was a man with a gold laurel wreath around his brow. With his purple toga, there was no mistaking the fact that he was none other than Emperor Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, Caligula himself. Naked boys and girls were kneeling at his feet, ready to attend to his every need. To Mashiach's disgust, the guests were also in various states of undress and engaged in sexual congress on the grass in full view or beneath the fruit trees.

 

"Why do you just stand there in the shadows?" Caligula declared. "You are our host! Come, join us!"

 

Mashiach's face darkened as the young Roman stepped forward. Giving his honored guest a gracious bow of thanks, he approached two beautiful youths who were copulating on top of a marble bench. The pretty girl lay on the bench with the brazen wantonness of a whore, her legs splayed to accommodate her handsome lover who had sheathed himself inside her wet cunt. As Mashiach watched, the Roman jerked his toga above his waist, leaned forward, and impaled the boy before him with his own cock. Both the boy and the girl cried out at that sudden thrust. With a driving, pounding pace of his hips, he fucked the boy hard, so that his own thrusts inside the girl were just as strong and forceful causing her voluptuous breasts to rock with their combined movements. The two youths were screaming in ecstasy; only the Roman was silent, even as he fucked them both.

 

It was then that he tilted his head to the side, his heavy-lidded eyes meeting the Jew's seething orbs. With measured slowness, the Roman's tongue poked out and licked his flushed lips.

 

The breath was wrenched from Mashiach's throat as a club was driven into his belly. "Avert your eyes, you fool!" the furious guard hissed in his face. "That is the Caesar whom you are staring at with such impunity!"

 

It was only at the mention of Rome's perverted ruler that the Jew's attention was briefly drawn to the Emperor again. Mashiach's eyes narrowed, seeing how Caligula watched the three with such avid interest. Or, maybe he was just staring at the young Roman. Caesar was unmistakably stroking his cock and balls beneath his toga as he stared at those pale buttocks.

 

In his abhorrence, Mashiach spat into a rose bush. "The Emperor does not interest me. But I want to know who that man is, the one rutting with those children."

 

"You should learn to show respect," the guard replied in disapproval of the Jew's hostile attitude."That man happens to be your dominus, your master. His name is Didymus Gallio, and you shall obey his every command. Even die for him, if that is what he desires."

 

"I am no man's slave," Mashiach declared, adamant. "Certainly not a man like him."

 

Remembering how his Master had eagerly participated in that most obscene orgy, Mashiach confirmed that he hated Didymus Gallio.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The first two months saw Mashiach being trained in the martial arts of the gladiators. It was not as if the Jew needed to be taught from scratch. He was already skilled at pugilism, wrestling and weaponry. What he sorely lacked was discipline and a calm, calculating temperament, which often led to an explosive, violent display of temper whenever the other trainers and guards insulted or goaded him. In the aftermath of such brawls, the Chief Guard would have him tossed into the pit to cool off his head, which was not very effective, considering that the pit was situated in the hottest corner of the training grounds, especially when the sun was high up in the sky.

 

As it turned out, the Chief Guard of the House of Gallio and the one who took full charge of the training of the slaves was none other than that famous gladiator, Demetrius. Apparently, the Greek was a close friend of Didymus Gallio's father, Marcellus, the very same Tribune who was the commander of the military detail that oversaw the crucifixion of Jesus the Nazarene. Upon learning that he was subservient to the son of the man responsible for the brutal execution of the Son of God, the greater was the hatred that Mashiach felt for Didymus.

 

During those early months of training, the Jew saw neither hide nor hair of the young Roman, although Demetrius assured them constantly that Didymus was monitoring their progress and that, very soon, a selection shall be made as to who will fight in the next games.

 

It was in the middle of the third month that Didymus Gallio made his appearance at the training fields. At Demetrius' order, the trainees lined up to be presented to their dominus. Mashiach was expecting to see Didymus dressed in his usual pristine white and purple-striped toga accompanied by a retinue of servants and tittering admirers.

 

To his surprise, not only did Didymus come alone, he was wearing the full attire of a gladiator—an old training tunic with a full torso armor on top, padded underneath with linen called subarmallis, manicae which were protective wraps for his arm and wrists, a plated cingulum for his waist, and ocrea or metal leg guards on each leg. The closed sandals on his feet were made out of tough leather. Sheathed in its scabbard at his hip was a gladius. It did not escape Mashiach's notice that the Roman was wearing a metal shoulder guard known as a galerus, which informed him that Didymus was either trained as a net fighter or _Retiarii_ or as a lasso fighter or _Laquerarii_.

 

Then again, knowing how these Roman brats were, the armor that Didymus wore could only be just for show and to intimidate his slaves.

 

"Demetrius, report," Didymus commanded in the clipped manner of a military officer.

 

"We have ten men who are ready for the games, My Lord." Demetrius called out the names of the trainees; Mashiach was the seventh slave ordered to step forward.

 

Didymus marched before them, looking them over from head to toe. His gaze lingered a split second longer on the Jew, but Mashiach kept his eyes focused on a broken ceramic pot near the fence.

 

"Very well," Didymus said casually. "Let's see how your men do, Demetrius." As he took five steps backward, he swept his arms open in invitation. "Come at me."

 

All ten men, including Mashiach, hesitated at that command. They looked at each other, frowning, confused. The other slaves behind them were mumbling their fear and distrust.

 

The Jew gaped back at the Roman. He was tall, just a couple of inches shorter than him. Although physically fit, his body was lean, certainly no match for their muscular and more powerful build.

 

"What are you waiting for?" Didymus asked in impatience. "Oh!" he exclaimed, realizing something. "Is it because I'm wearing a real sword?" The Roman gestured for them to wait as he unbuckled his sword belt. Demetrius was trying to hold back the smile that was quirking up his lips as he handed Didymus a wooden practice sword and took his gladius from him. Didymus tested its weight for a moment or two before facing the slaves again. "Come on! Don't keep me waiting!"

 

The tallest and heaviest man among the slaves, a Phoenician, lunged at the Roman with his sword. Before the Phoenician could blink, Didymus locked blades with him and, with a twist of his wrist, tore the sword out of his grasp, falling on the dusty earth a few feet from them. Didymus then kneed the surprised slave in the belly. As the Phoenician doubled over, the Roman knocked him out with an elbow to the back of his head.

 

Another man charged at Didymus with his spear. Laying his free hand on the flat of his sword, he thrust his arms forward and blocked the spear point. With a downward sweep of his arms, he forced the slave to lower his weapon to the ground, which Didymus broke in two with a heavy stomp of his heel.

 

Two Thracians attacked the Roman simultaneously with their swords. Didymus withdrew for a short distance, but it was for the purpose of retrieving the Phoenician's sword. Now with two blades in hand, the Roman displayed quick dexterity, gracefully parrying swipes and thrusts. When the Thracians lunged at him together, Didymus crossed his swords like the blades of a pair of scissors. Grunting, he too wrenched their swords out of their hands.

 

As Mashiach watched, stupefied, Didymus dispatched the remaining slaves one by one. Judging from the measuring expression on his face, the Roman was not only studying his opponents' moves; he was also assessing how far they would last against him.

 

Mashiach swore he would not lose to this man.

 

With a fierce roar, the Jew charged at Didymus. The other slaves withdrew, now that the strongest among them had finally made his entrance. Unlike the others though, Mashiach held his sword back and waited for the Roman to move first.

 

When Didymus swung his sword, their blades collided with loud clacks. Those blue gray eyes widened slightly as his sword arm felt the vibrations of that jarring blow. If Mashiach thought that he had intimidated the younger man, he was dead wrong. A broad smile formed on Didymus' face, revealing white, even teeth. The Jew realized then that he could not defeat the Roman with swords; he needed to switch tactics.

 

Mashiach curled his leg around Didymus' knee and, with a mighty tug, made the Roman lose his balance so that he fell to the ground. The Jew dropped down to his knees with the intention of pinning him down on the earth. However, in a surprising move, Didymus twisted his body to the side, at the same time, kicking his legs up in a scissoring motion. Before the Jew knew what was happening, his head was trapped in a tight leglock. Another twist and Didymus was sitting on his behind, leaning slightly back as he yanked hard at one of Mashiach's arms, nearly wrenching it out of its socket. The Jew's neck remained trapped between the Roman's legs, choking him.

 

 ** _"YIELD!"_** Didymus yelled at the Jew.

 

**_"NEVER!"_ **

****

**_"DAMN IT, MAN! ARE YOU THIS DETERMINED TO DIE?!"_ **

****

**_"I WILL NEVER SURRENDER TO A FILTHY ROMAN LIKE YOU!"_ **

 

"Suit yourself," Didymus said grimly.

 

The last thing that Mashiach heard was a loud crack before everything around him went black.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Mashiach thought for certain that the Roman had broken his neck. When he awoke, however, it was to find himself inside a fine chamber with marble walls and with a throbbing headache, which caused him to flop his head back on the pillow underneath and moan.

 

"I must apologize for that large lump on your brow," a familiar, hated voice declared in the corner. "I really had no intention to kill you. But since, according to Demetrius, you were unlikely to surrender, he took it upon himself to knock you out with the hilt of his sword."

 

Mashiach let out a rumbling groan. Because of his headache, he could not formulate the questions that were running through his mind properly. "How…what…"

 

"Deceived by my appearance, were you?" Didymus chuckled, a bit mockingly. "I am an Eques, a soldier in Caesar's cavalry. I am also fortunate enough to be the sole, prized pupil of the famous Greek gladiator Demetrius. I may not look like it, but fighting comes naturally for me. If Caesar had not forbidden me, I would've participated in the games as a Dimachaerus, a gladiator fighting with two swords, although I am knowledgeable in all the gladiator combat styles."

 

While Didymus was speaking, the Jew surveyed his surroundings. It was a small bedchamber, definitely not the Roman's; perhaps a guest room for someone of a lower social rank. What did ultimately register to him, though, was that he was shackled to the bed, not only at his wrists and ankles but also at his waist, so that he stayed flat on his back. To his greater mortification, he was completely stripped bare.

 

Mashiach yanked at the chains, but they would not give. Seeing the handsome figure dressed in a white linen tunic approaching him, he demanded, "What is the meaning of this? What are you going to do to me? If you think I will let you defile me…"

 

"It is not my intent to take you like a whore. I have enough men, women, boys and girls who are willing to spread their legs to me," Didymus replied with infuriating bluntness. "But…I will not deny that I do **_want_** you and I **_need_** that which only you can give me."

 

"I don't know what it is that you want, but I am Mashiach Ben-Alharon, and I…am a Christian. I will not fall into sin because of your perversions."

 

"Your God, if He is as just as they say, will not punish you, knowing that you are unwilling. The full burden of this sin I alone shall bear."

 

Didymus pulled his tunic up and over his head. For a brief moment, Mashiach's breath was locked in his throat. Never had he seen a man so beautiful, so flawless as this Roman. His skin was pale alabaster. Looking closely, the Jew noticed that he was not as flawless as he thought. There were dark bruises from the fights earlier. A diagonal silver scar cut across his flat belly, just above his navel. The sight of the Roman's semi-erect cock jutting from its nest of ginger curls prompted Mashiach to turn his head away, embarrassed. But when Didymus straddled his hips, the Jew trained his shocked gaze again at the man above him.

 

"I have been carefully observing my male lovers, so I know how to make this pleasant for you, although not so for me," Didymus revealed. "I could rouse you by playing with my body. I have been told that I am sensitive here…" He swept his hand over his shoulder and descending to his collarbone. "…And here." His finger circled a dark disc at his chest which caused the nub at the center to harden like a pebble. "They say that my nipples are as sensitive as a woman's. However, I will not disgust you any further with tactile explorations. I believe this will be sufficient."

 

 ** _"NO!"_** Mashiach shouted in fury as Didymus' hand closed around his cock. **_"DON'T YOU DARE!"_**

 

But the Roman ignored him and proceeded to stroke Mashiach's length in his oiled palm. His grip tightened and he pulled the member upward and then relaxed, following a languorous pace which had the Jew's member filling with blood. Didymus' strokes quickened as the cock in his hand became engorged so that it stood at its full length.

 

The Roman's eyes took in Mashiach's massive girth. "You are big," he mused with sudden apprehension. "I hope my preparations would be sufficient."

 

The Jew was going to demand what he was up to. It was an unnecessary question. As Mashiach watched, Didymus straightened his back, his hands reaching behind him to caress the mounds of his buttocks. Kneeling a couple of inches forward so that Mashiach's cock was poised beneath him, the Roman parted his buttocks to reveal his oiled, stretched opening. Still, Didymus cried out as he sank down upon the Jew's member. Mashiach was too big, and even his unwilling lover was uncertain if his cock could fit into that tiny, puckered hole. But the Roman was determined to have his way with him.

 

Didymus withdrew momentarily to finger his orifice again and stretch it open further. Grinding his teeth together, he lowered himself once more upon the Jew's rod, wincing as his sphincters protested at the invasion. One quick plunge and the bulbous head finally breached him. The pain was indescribable, a combination of tearing and burning, as he took in Mashiach's entire length. When that enormous cock was at last deeply seated inside him, Didymus paused for a bit to catch his breath.

 

When his body had grown accustomed to the invader, the Roman began to move, rocking his hips and pumping up and down. Mashiach tried to exert control over his cock, willing it to soften, but Didymus' tight ass milked his rod, the muscles constricting around his length in time with his pumping hips. It did not take long for the Jew to reach that unwanted climax, and he cursed the man above him for debasing him like this.

 

Didymus eased himself off the Jew's cock. Mashiach found some satisfaction at least that the Roman had hurt himself from his obscene exertions, judging from the way he elevated his ass and tucked his long legs close together.

 

 What he did not expect, though, were the tears of relief that glimmered in the young man's eyes.

 

Didymus bent down and kissed him on the lips. "Thank you." The Roman gingerly got off the bed. Turning to the glaring Jew, he said, "The term for a slave in the gladiatorial arena is five years. If you should last that long or if you win impressively in a number of fights, you will earn your freedom."

 

"I don't have any plans to die, Roman," Mashiach spat back, "not until I have my revenge upon you for what you did to me."

 

Didymus chewed on his lower lip. "What if I tell you that I can give you your vengeance?"

 

The Jew's eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "What the hell do you mean?"

 

"If you win your first bout, I shall become your slave. In the privacy of these chambers, you can do whatever you want with me."

 

**_"I don't want to have anything to do with a deviant like you!"_ **

 

"You don't have to fuck me if you find me so detestable!" Didymus declared hotly. "A slave not only serves as a bed warmer. But as an Eques and ward of Emperor Caligula, I have been tutored by the best and brightest teachers and scholars in Rome. I could teach you the knowledge that you will need for when you become a free man. If…If you should desire it, you may…punish…me for my transgression toward you. I will take what you will give me."

 

Despite his seething rage toward the Roman, Mashiach was enticed by the prospect of an education. He was an orphan and, while he was growing up, traveling with merchants all over Israel, no one ever thought to teach him to read, write or count. And, God forgive him, but the prospect that he would have this proud, beautiful Roman for his secret, private slave and do to him all the cruelties that had been inflicted upon him was a temptation he could not resist.

 

"Very well," Mashiach said. "We have a deal."

 

The Roman nodded. In silence, he removed the Jew's chains and let them fall to the floor. "You said your name was Mashiach Ben-Alharon. Do you know what your name 'Mashiach' means?"

 

"I was born with no name. I was given that name when I reached the age of manhood and I was baptized a Christian. I never thought to ask what it meant."

 

"'Mashiach' means 'the anointed one' in Hebrew. Another lesser known meaning of your name is 'Messiah'." Didymus smiled wanly. "I wonder, Mashiach, if you are truly the long awaited savior of this sinful Roman."

 

With these final words, Didymus limped away, leaving the Jew to ponder at his curious statement. While he massaged his aching wrists, Mashiach felt a twinge of guilt as he stared at the blood and come that trickled between the Roman's legs.

 

The Jew never knew that Demetrius was waiting for Didymus outside the door. The former gladiator's eyes narrowed at the state of the young man whom he had promised his dear friend to protect.

 

"You are making a big mistake, Didymus," Demetrius told the Roman. "This Jew is not the right one."

 

"Mashiach **_IS_** the one, Teacher," Didymus said with certainty to the Greek who taught him the ways of a warrior and a gladiator. "He just doesn't know it yet."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Mashiach did not have to wait too long for his first fight. Following the death of a minor consul who was a loyal supporter of the Emperor, it was announced that a gladiatorial _munus_ will be held at the Forum Boarium to honor the deceased statesman in five days time.

 

Remembering Didymus' vow to him, he was very much looking forward to winning his first match to ensure that the Roman would be his slave. As soon as Demetrius announced the gladiatorial games, the Jew spent hours recalling the beatings and tortures he had endured through the years and making an accounting of which ones he would inflict upon Didymus, especially if he should press his obscene desires upon him again.

 

Because of his distracted state, Mashiach suffered another humiliating defeat at the hands of the Roman during training.

 

"I see you enjoyed the favors I bestowed upon you last night that you couldn't keep your mind on the fight," Didymus sneered in his ear after he had trapped the Jew in an armlock with his foot pressing down firmly on Mashiach's behind. "If you want me to play your slave, **_concentrate_**! I will not have you die because your mind is not on the fight!"

 

Mashiach did not need to be told twice. In the four days prior to the games, he and the other slaves underwent rigorous training at the hands of both Demetrius and Didymus. The Greek taught them all the techniques and tricks, but it was the Roman who discovered their flaws, and he would order maneuvers to be repeated over and over again until they overcame these weaknesses. This caused anger, resentment and frustration to arise among the slaves, so that they were driven with the intense desire to best their young master. However, it was because of his sharp, analytical mind that Didymus was the one man—with the notable exception of Demetrius—whom they could never defeat.

 

On the evening before the munus, Didymus held a _coena libera_ in their honor. Slave owners would never join their gladiators in this small feast. But because he was also their _lanista_ or trainer, Didymus joined them, sitting with Demetrius at the head table. No one was in the mood for eating though, aware that the sumptuous feast before them could be their last meal.

 

Didymus noticed soon enough their lack of appetite. While it was customary for the slave owner to give a speech to his gladiators, what the Roman said to them surprised everyone.

 

"I have observed that most of you have eaten only a few bites of the meal before you," Didymus declared, not hiding his disapproval. "Yes, I will not deny that I am your owner. But, I did not buy you from the slave markets to die."

 

Heads slowly lifted at that last. They frowned at each other before turning their attention back toward their master.

 

"I saw potential in each and every one of you," the Roman continued. "I saw that…spark…inside your eyes, which told me that you will not give up on your life without a fight. Demetrius and I have taught you the skills by which you can survive in the arena. It is up to you if you would use these skills. If you won't use them, then you have wasted the money I have spent to give you the opportunity to attain your freedom."

 

Mashiach could not resist voicing out his sentiment. "The only freedom that is due us is death in the arena, which is a freedom in itself. Only a few truly become free men." He let out a sardonic laugh. "And we all know that Caesar does not show his favors often."

 

Didymus breathed in deeply. Grim, he stared back at the Jew and said, "If that is what you and everyone else thinks, then maybe I should kill you all here right now." The slaves leaped to their feet, automatically reaching for their wooden practice swords, only to pause when they saw that the Roman had already unsheathed his own iron blade faster. "You see that I could do it," Didymus growled, pointing at each man with his sword, but lingering longer at Mashiach. "But I won't." He sheathed his blade angrily. "The term of a gladiator inside the arena is five years. But if you perform well and you become popular with the mob, it may take only a few fights for you to become a _Rudiarius_ , a free gladiator. This is rare, but it has been known to happen."

 

"When you enter the arena tomorrow, you are _Tirones gladiatores_ ," the Roman continued. "Mindful of this fact, I have approached Caesar directly, and he agreed to my recommendation that the fights of the Tiros for tomorrow will be _pugnare ad digitum_. All you need to do is to raise your arm or even a finger, and the _munerarius_ designated by the Emperor will stop the fight. Still, there is the chance that you might get wounded in combat. But if you will utilize what we have taught you, I see no way for any of you to lose."

 

Didymus looked each man straight in the eye. "Take this opportunity to learn what you can from your opponents—their moves, their strategies, even how they cheat. The munus is about survival of the fittest, and Demetrius and I have equipped you with the skills necessary to fight against any type of gladiator fighting style. You don't appreciate what we have taught you now, but you most definitely will tomorrow. Now, eat! You will need all your strength for the games tomorrow."

 

With this last statement, Didymus sat down and began shoveling meat into his mouth. The slaves blinked momentarily at him before they too started to eat, much heartily than they were earlier.

 

On the day of the games, the _pompa_ , the ceremonial parade, was conducted around the city. Mashiach and the other slaves marched solemnly through the streets as the crowd cheered and flowers rained down upon their heads. Didymus accompanied them under the cover of his palanquin, with Demetrius ever vigilant at his side.

 

The Jew never saw the spectacles that took place in the Forum Boarium for the entire morning; they were kept waiting in the gladiator cells behind the Forum until their names were called. Despite the heat of the sun above their heads, unlike the other nobles, Didymus stayed with his slaves, giving them advice and words of encouragement before they entered. After twenty or thirty minutes, each fighter would return, bruised or wounded but winners, and they would take the Roman's hand and thank him profusely for his tutelage.

 

When it was finally Mashiach's turn, only then did Didymus go to the imperial viewing box to join his benefactor, Caligula. As he walked into the center of the arena, the Jew gaped, awe-struck, at the hundreds of people cheering and clapping in the stands. Then, he trained his gaze toward the nine gladiators who were to be his opponents. To his surprise, the fighters were a mix of styles. Most were heavily armored. There were three bearing the trademark nets and tridents of the Retiarii. One wielded a whip while another brandished two swords. A couple wielded spears.

 

 ** _"CONCENTRATE!"_** Mashiach heard that word hissed inside his head, so that his whole body instinctively went into a crouch, sword held ready while he raised his small shield known as a _pugnum_ before his head and torso. His head jerked up slightly, his eyes focusing upon the podium, specifically the _cubiculum_ where Didymus sat beside Caesar. The Roman seemed to be lounging lazily in his cushioned seat, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his blue gray eyes as he glared at the Jew.

 

_"Never attack first. Block out everything around you except for the gladiator you will be facing. Observe your opponents. See how they move. Always be alert for sneak attacks. If you are that determined to have me for your slave, then **win**."_

 

Even after the munerarius gave the _signum pugnae_ marking the start of the games, Mashiach remained in that position, watching his opponents.

 

It turned out that the Jew was also being eyed by a Samnite, a heavily armored gladiator bearing a sword and large full body shield known as a _scutum_. With a mighty roar, the Samnite charged at Mashiach, waving his gladius.

 

The Jew let out a soft exhalation as he waited for the man to get close to him. As soon as the Samnite's shadow fell upon him, all Mashiach saw was the color red.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

There was another shocked gasp coming from the Emperor beside him, and Didymus pressed his fingers to his lips in seemingly thoughtful contemplation when, in truth, he was concealing the smug smile on his face.

 

He had suspected that Caesar would be pitting his more experienced fighters against the Tiros. The Emperor had been strongly against his becoming a gladiator trainer, and Caligula sought to humiliate him by having his novices lose in their respective fights. And, yet, each man won.

 

Now that Mashiach was fighting in the arena, Caligula has become all too aware of Didymus' skill as a lanista as he watched the Jew escape the traps that his more skilled opponents set for him and downed the gladiators one by one with a painful sword thrust in the gut or a blow to the head with his pugnum.

 

A Cataphractarius managed to remove the helmet from Mashiach's head with a sweeping strike of his _contus_. With his head bared and his long blond hair flowing in the wind, Mashiach lunged at the gladiator, ducking low and catching the lance as his body went up. Before the Cataphractarius could get away, the Jew struck out with a devastating uppercut at his one vulnerable spot, namely his jaw. Because of his heavy body armor, the gladiator fell to the ground with a loud clang.

 

Seeing his comrade down, the last gladiator—a tall and powerful Gallus—rushed at Mashiach with sword and shield. With a grunt, the Jew raised the heavy contus of the Cataphractarius and used it to knock the Gallus' shield off his arm. Mashiach then charged at the gladiator, wrapping his brawny arms around the man's waist. As they fell to the ground, the Jew swiftly caught hold of his wrist, jerking the gladiator's arm up as he stood. Didymus grinned secretly as he watched Mashiach plant his foot on the Gallus' back; it was the very same submission hold he had used on the Jew a few days back. Trapped and in pain, the Gallus had no choice but to raise his free arm and tap the ground desperately, admitting his defeat.

 

Upon the signal of the munerarius, only then did Mashiach release the gladiator. To make sure that his opponent would not try anything underhanded, he stepped on the man's chest. To Didymus' amusement, there was a confused expression on the Jew's face—a frown on his forehead and his blue eyes blinking—as he stared at the carnage around him. It was all too apparent that Mashiach was having trouble believing that he had defeated all nine gladiators, even if he was being drowned out by the cheers and flower petals from the people in the stands.

 

It was then that Caligula noticed the interest that his ward had in the victor. "Who is that man, Didymus?"

 

Too happy as he was with Mashiach's triumph, Didymus failed to note the tone of jealousy in the Emperor's voice. "His name is Mashiach Ben-Alharon, my Jewish slave," he declared with undisguised pride. As Didymus stood up from his seat, he caught Mashiach's eye, who grinned back at him with eager, wicked expectation. Giving Caligula a devilish wink, Didymus added, "And he is also my champion."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Mashiach groaned as he bent his body and drew his shoulders backward slowly, feeling his tender muscles and tendons stretch and joints crack. He grimaced at the assorted bruises on his skin. Because he had abandoned himself in the heat of the fights, he never realized that his opponents had scored hits of their own. It was a miracle that all he received were bruises, much more the fact that he emerged the victor.

 

The Jew was on his way to the baths. He needed to soak his weary, battered body in hot water. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would be given a massage, perhaps more, by a buxom slave girl. His fellow gladiators had told him that they were given such a treat. And he desired a treat indeed, if he were to consider the fact that his blood was still pumping from the day's exertions and, as a result, was sporting a semi-erection.

 

As soon as he entered the baths, Mashiach was blasted by a wall of steam which caused his eyes to tear for a moment. A quick swipe of his eyes with the back of his hand, and he at once saw the lithe silhouette in the mist ahead of him. Taking excited steps closer and closer to that shadow, the Jew was gratified by the sight of a slender waist and luscious taut buttocks when the steam dissipated a bit. To his delight, he could see long fingers running over those ample mounds, caressing and squeezing the curvaceous flesh. In his eagerness to partake of the delectable morsel before him, Mashiach reached for that dim outline, his hands closing over shoulders, and wrenched the startled figure around.

 

**_"MASHIACH!"_ **

 

The Jew jerked back instantly as if stung at that familiar **_male_** voice. Sure enough, Didymus blinked owlishly back at him, clutching a small washcloth over his privates. Remembering the role he was going to play though, the Roman laid the cloth on a tray at the edge of the bath, a trembling albeit seductive smile curving the corners of his lips.

 

However, Mashiach was certain that he saw a momentary flicker of fear in those blue gray eyes. "What are you doing here?"

 

A slight dilation of the pupils. Yes, despite the air of flippancy and confidence that he was projecting, the Roman was indeed fearful of him.

 

"I'm here to fulfill my end of our deal," Didymus replied, demurely lowering his eyes with a bat of long lashes. "Since you have won your first bout, I am now your slave."

 

"I don't need you. I want a pretty slave girl with big breasts. Now go away," Mashiach said in brusque dismissal.

 

"You would have me leave without fulfilling my duty? Even a slave finds some pride in serving his Dominus well."

 

"You know nothing about slavery. Pride is the very first thing that is stripped from a slave. What you are doing is nothing more than a game, to give variety to your perverse desires."

 

"There is nothing perverse in my…attraction…toward you." Didymus raised his right hand and caressed Mashiach's jaw with the tip of his finger. The Jew tilted his head back, jaw clenched and teeth gritted in disgust. "Mashiach, can you in all honesty tell me that you do not find me attractive, desirable?" He reached down, gripping both of their cocks in his hand and stroking them languidly. "That you don't want to sheathe this inside me?"

 

Mashiach did not reply. Instead, he suddenly shoved the Roman back hard, so that he slipped and fell into the water with a splash. Before Didymus could regain his footing, a powerful hand gripped his neck and kept him submerged. For a moment, the Roman struggled against that tight grip. But he forced back the panic, allowing the wheels of his mind to turn and figure out a way to break free. That brief second when his struggles paused so that he could try to hook his leg around the Jew's ankle and sweep him off balance proved to be a critical error. Mashiach yanked him out of the bath by his neck. Before he could even take in a single gasp of air, he was slammed face down on the marble edge of the bath.

 

 ** _"NO!"_** Didymus protested, feeling callused hands part the cheeks of his buttocks.

 

"You want this?" Mashiach pressed the head of his member against that small, tight opening. **_"THEN TAKE IT ALL!"_**

 

 ** _"AAAHHHH!"_** Didymus' face was a rictus of agony when the Jew impaled him. He tried to buck the larger man off him, but Mashiach clung tightly to his waist, effectively pinning him down. Helpless but enraged, the Roman's fingernails scratched the tiles as he tried to relax his channel and ease the pain of those brutal thrusts.

 

Feeling his own cock scraping against the wall of the bath, Didymus' jaw clenched. _Damn this bastard! He would not even give me release!_

 

Mashiach's whole body shuddered as he flooded the insides of the Roman with his seed. "I hope that has satisfied you enough…slave," he said, sneering.

 

Didymus whipped around, his hand delivering a stinging slap upon the Jew's face. Mashiach was going to strike back, but he held back his fist at the sight of the fury and the unshed tears of bitter disappointment in the Roman's eyes.

 

 ** _"DAMN YOU! YOU DARE TAKE BY FORCE THAT WHICH I OFFER YOU FREELY?"_** Didymus shouted in his face. **_"In all my life, I have NEVER mistreated my slaves or my lovers the way you have me! And you accuse me of being perverse! WHO IS THE PERVERSE ONE BETWEEN US NOW?"_**

 

The Roman climbed out of the bath. Although he knew he should not be feeling anything but satisfaction that he had put the Roman in his place, Mashiach's heart was pinched by remorse at the sight of the come and blood that seeped down between Didymus' thighs.

 

"Maybe Demetrius was right," Didymus concluded, not looking back at the stunned man in the bath as he wrapped a robe around him. "Maybe you are not the right one." With these parting words, the Roman stormed off.

 

Fearing that Didymus might summon the guards, Mashiach too hurriedly clambered out of the bath, wrapped the towel around his waist, and all but run back to the barracks, to be greeted by hoots from the other slaves. He was not, however, in the mood for jests and he retired to his solitary cot, where he lay waiting to be fetched for flogging or even death.

 

But, no punishment came to the Jew that night or in the three days that followed. Didymus also did not appear at the training field during that period of time, which the slaves readily accepted, considering that there won't be any games in the next couple of months. What was noticeable was the harsher treatment that Mashiach got from Demetrius. Knowing the reason for the Greek's enmity, Mashiach bore the heated insults and the harder blows in stoic silence.

 

It was in the evening of the fourth day that the Jew was summoned to the guest chamber by the Roman. _So, my Dominus has not learned his lesson after all_. He should have known that those three days were but a reprieve. As he was escorted by a guard to the room, Mashiach cracked his knuckles, eager to return the Roman's slap with a punch to the face if he should press his attentions again.

 

The Jew did not notice one of the estate's stewards observing their passage with dark suspicion in his eyes.

 

When the door was opened for him by a servant and he was pushed inside by the guard, great was Mashiach's surprise when he found Didymus sitting at a table with scrolls—both blank and with writing—and quills and ink set out before him.

 

Having caught sight of the Jew at the doorway with his left hand cupping his right fist, Didymus' right eyebrow lifted and he inquired with undisguised sarcasm, "You seem pretty bloodthirsty for your first lesson in reading and writing…Master."

 

Didymus stood up from the table and approached the baffled Jew, his movements utterly devoid of any flirtation. When they were face to face, he thumped the Jew's sternum hard with his fingertips. "Make no mistake, Mashiach. It is only because of the fact that I swore an oath to you that I am doing this. Unlike you, I am a man of honor, and I will give you an education, just as I had promised. But, you will not get anything else from me. Two opportunities I had given you, but you treated me like filth. Lay even a finger on me and I will cut your throat." He gestured to the small sheathed dagger at his left hip. "Have I made myself clear?"

 

"Yes," was the only thing that Mashiach could say.

 

"Good then. Now…" Didymus declared, returning to his seat, "…let us begin with the Greek and Roman alphabets."

 

Thus chastened, Mashiach sat down opposite the Roman with all the timidity of a mouse.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Suffice to say, those early lessons proved to be an exasperating and wasteful endeavor, if one were to base it upon the torn pieces of paper that were strewn all across the floor of the guest chamber, evidence of Mashiach's foul temper and frustration whenever he could not understand what the Roman was teaching him. But Didymus was both a patient and stubborn teacher. In the end, they wound up using a large writing board hung on the wall, handy slates and chalk. The slates, in particular, were of greater benefit to Didymus, who could now use the wooden board to whack the irritating Jew on the head. In no time, Mashiach was able to both read and write the Roman/Greek and Hebrew alphabets and numbers and mastered simple words and sentences and computations.

 

All of Mashiach's earlier morbid planning on vile acts he was going to inflict upon the Roman proved in vain. Didymus never forced his lewd attentions upon him. He even served the Jew food and wine during their lessons like a dutiful slave and scribe. The very few times that Didymus had laid his hands on him were when he suffered one of his terrible headaches whenever a mathematical problem proved difficult.

 

That first instance, Didymus had yanked him back against his seat before he could bang his aching head on the table for the umpteenth time. The Roman massaged his temples and shoulders then, snorting, "Hmph! Don't you dare think that I'm doing this because I want a fuck from you. I'd rather not waste any more money on you if you should wreck my table."

 

In truth, Mashiach should have been exhausted from the daily physical and mental exertions. Strangely enough, the prospect of learning new things from the Roman invigorated him. Unlike his previous teachers who eventually gave up because of his pig-headedness, Didymus was always patient enough to answer any questions that he may have, no matter how silly or stupid they might be. What surprised him even more was the wealth of knowledge that Didymus possessed regarding the teachings of Jesus.

 

"Demetrius is a Christian, but I would not have this fact dredged up again, knowing Caesar's enmity toward the followers of Jesus," Didymus explained to him. "I am not a Christian. But many of Jesus' teachings are in accord with my own principles and beliefs."

 

Mashiach dared not say in the Roman's face that his obscene desires were against the teachings of the Christ lest he abruptly stop his education. There was also the matter that he was enjoying the Roman's company with every passing day, although he would never admit it out loud.

 

However, what did prevent him from according Didymus full respect was his aforementioned licentious behavior. When they were not training or having lessons, Mashiach would often see the Roman drinking with his fellow Equestrians. More disturbing were the occasions when he would find Didymus engaged in sexual congress in the oddest of places or out in the open for all to see. There was one time when he was heading to the weapons shed to pick up more practice swords, he nearly bumped into Didymus. The Roman was rutting a vocally exuberant girl against a wall. Another time, Demetrius sent them off to run several laps around the estate. The Jew saw the Roman under a peach tree with a young man bent over an upraised root. Mashiach would always glare at Didymus, who would in turn throw his nose up in a deliberate snub. Neither man would mention such encounters during lessons or training.

 

Things changed though, when someone new entered Didymus' life. Little did Mashiach know that it was this man who would serve as the catalyst for change in his troubled relationship with the Roman.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Alcinder Berengarius was a Praetorian Guard in the company of the much respected centurion Casseus Chaerea, who happened to be a close friend of Didymus'.

 

Mashiach caught a glimpse of the three men one afternoon in the pavilion when he and Demetrius arrived at the estate following a trip to the blacksmith. Thanks to Didymus' tutelage, the Jew had attained the skills of a shrewd businessman and would be sent off to assist the Greek gladiator in haggling prices.

 

Didymus did not acknowledge their arrival. His eyes were focused on Alcinder alone, admiring the fair beauty of the Praetorian. As the Jew and Demetrius passed by bearing the armor they had purchased, Mashiach heard the names "Caligula" or "Caesar" mentioned many times. He thought nothing of it; they were, after all, tasked to look after the safety and well-being of the Emperor. But he could not deny that he was disturbed by the obvious affections that Didymus was bestowing upon the Guard.

 

And Mashiach did not know why he should be so distressed.

 

A full year passed since that day. During this period, Mashiach won seven gladiator fights. Already, he had amassed not only riches, but also the respect and admiration of the Romans who watched the games. Demetrius had told him that the _rudis_ and _liberatio_ were in reach. Despite the fact that he was close to freedom, Mashiach could not help feeling sad. Some of the slaves who had been his comrades-at-arms and friends perished in the arena. Those were painful moments for Didymus. The Roman personally ensured that they would not be stripped of their armor and weapons in the spoliarium. He brought home their bodies where a funeral pyre was conducted in their honor. Didymus made certain that their ashes were sent in urns of gold to their families—information he had obtained from his slaves upon purchasing them—together with the wealth they had accumulated. It was because of his thoughtfulness and generosity that the Roman earned the loyalty and devotion of his gladiators, feelings which the Jew shared with them and perhaps more.

 

It was most unfortunate for Mashiach that Didymus made good on his vow to never press his affections upon him. Mashiach should have been relieved; that was what he wanted after all.

 

But every night, his body betrayed him, remembering those two times that he had taken the beautiful Roman. He would wake up panting for breath, a raging erection between his thighs which would not abate unless he took it into hand and gave it the remedy it needed. Mashiach would then bury his face in his knees, guilt-stricken that he had treated Didymus like a whore and not with the love and tenderness which he so desperately needed.

 

Instead, Mashiach had to watch from the distance as he was replaced in Didymus' heart by the dashing Praetorian Guard.

 

It was three days after a munus. The Jew had not participated in these particular games because it was for a minor official. Since a friend had triumphed in the games, Mashiach decided to go to the marketplace with a pouch of gold coins tucked inside his tunic. He was thinking of buying fine food and wine to treat his fellow gladiators to a small feast in the barracks later that evening to celebrate. He had already extended an invitation to their mentor Demetrius. Perhaps, he could convey a similar invite to Didymus.

 

As he was passing through the market section allotted to the jewelry merchants, Mashiach's face darkened, seeing Didymus perusing the trinkets and baubles on display with Alcinder at his side. They were engaged in light conversation, the Roman's handsome face brightening and showing pearly white teeth whenever he laughed at the Guard's jokes.

 

At this point, Mashiach could no longer deny that he was indeed jealous of Alcinder. It should be him who was making Didymus smile like that, not the Praetorian.

 

The two men lingered at one stall. To one of its posts, a plaque with the Emperior's insignia was tacked. Didymus was staring at something with such intense longing, but ultimately turned away. Such merchants would sell their finest trinkets to Caligula first, although this would not stop them from initially putting the same on display to show off the exquisite craftsmanship before they were claimed.

 

As Mashiach watched, a little boy came running toward them. Whatever the message he had relayed to them was, the two men became serious. Didymus nodded to Alcinder, who swiftly went to his horse which was tethered to a railing.

 

"Be careful." Those were the words that Didymus mouthed to the Guard, as he ran his hand over the horse's brow.

 

Alcinder leaned over, and Mashiach thought that they would actually kiss. Instead, they grasped each other's arm, a gesture of strength and solidarity among brothers-in-arms. The Praetorian then straightened up and rode off. Didymus did not stay any longer, hastening off in the direction of his estate.

 

When the two Romans were finally gone, Mashiach headed straight for the jewelry stall. What immediately caught his eye was an armband of gold with intricate filigree covering its surface. It was such a pretty thing that he was certain Didymus would be attracted to.

 

Just to be sure, the Jew discreetly inquired of the merchant, "That Roman who was just here, the one with the Praetorian Guard...what specific trinket was he looking at?"

 

Mashiach was surprised by the apparent reluctance on the portly man's face. "You mean Eques Didymus Gallio? Actually, he was interested in the armband you were admiring. But, I'm afraid I could not sell it to him."

 

"And why is that?" the Jew demanded, not concealing his offense on behalf of the Roman. "Is Didymus' gold not good or sufficient enough as payment?"

 

"Uh, no, no, sir!" the merchant stammered, wagging his hands. "It's just that Caesar also has his eye on this armband, but he has not made a final decision yet since there are other pieces which interest him. Then again, I am certain that some of my jewelries that I sell to the Emperor will most likely end up in the possession of young Master Gallio."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Pardon my asking, sir, but are you not the famous gladiator Mashiach Ben-Alharon? And Master Gallio is your lanista?"

 

So much for discretion, Mashiach mused wryly. "So what if I am?"

 

The merchant leaned over and whispered, "Then you should know that Didymus Gallio is the favorite _puer_ of Caligula."

 

Mashiach was shocked and outraged. "Nonsense! That is a lie! I will not deny that my Dominus is a profligate, but he is most definitely not Caesar's catamite!"

 

The man jerked back, fearful that the powerful gladiator might throttle him. "Forgive me, sir, but it is common knowledge among the Romans that Master Gallio is being groomed to be Caesar's concubine. It is because of this that certain people belonging to…a sect…are utterly disgusted with him."

 

The Jew's head was spinning from all these revelations. "Sect? Are you saying that my Master is a Christian? But he told me that he wasn't?!"

 

"His parents were Christians. Now that I think about, it is impossible to say that he is a Christian like Marcellus and Diana Gallio. Master Didymus was but a babe when his parents were ordered executed by Caligula himself. Diana Gallio, you see, was intended to be Caesar's bride, so he hated Marcellus with a passion, even more when he converted Caligula's betrothed into a Christian. The Emperor would have taken their son into the palace until he was of age. Rumor has it that the Greek gladiator Demetrius was granted one request by Caesar when he was given liberatio and entered the ranks of the Praetorian Guard. The request that Demetrius made was that he be the one to take charge of Didymus Gallio's upbringing, even though officially the child was Caligula's ward. It was said that Demetrius did this in order to ensure that the child will be able to inherit his father's estate when he became a man." The merchant quietly added, "Demetrius is himself a Christian, but if he is instructing Master Gallio the teachings of the Nazarene, it seems they have no effect on him, as you yourself have noted."

 

Mashiach frowned. This was just too much information for his troubled mind to process. "I believe everything that you've told me is just idle gossip from people who have nothing better to do with their time than ruin a good man's reputation." He nodded at the armband. "How much is that?"

 

"But, as I said, Caesar will…"

 

"Caesar takes too long to make up his mind over something as trivial as a trinket." The Jew slammed his full pouch on the counter, causing the coins inside it to jingle. "I'm certain that armband costs much less than the money that I have in this pouch, but I will give you everything as long as you sell it to me."

 

"But…what about Caesar?"

 

"Then tell him what I just said. Don't forget that a gladiator of my stature has special privileges. You should think about your position, especially if my loyal admirers should discover that you refused to sell a simple bauble to me." Mashiach laid a hand over the pouch. "So…do we have a deal or not?"

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Master Demetrius?"

 

The Greek was on his way out the gate of the estate to run a secret errand for Didymus. Demetrius was surprised to see Mashiach emerge from the bushes. In all the time that he had been training them, the Jew never dared to approach him outside of the barracks or the training field.

 

"What is it, Mashiach?" Demetrius asked impatiently. "As you can see, I am in a hurry."

 

"I would like to ask if I may speak with Master Didymus."

 

"Now would not be a good time. Didymus has a lot on his mind."

 

"Please, sir. All I am asking is a few minutes of his time, if he would permit it." The Jew fidgeted in place. "It's a…private matter."

 

Demetrius' right eyebrow went up at the uncharacteristic humility in the younger man. He did not fail to notice that Mashiach was holding something in his hand, wrapped in white silk and tied with a cord.

 

Sighing, Demetrius replied, "Didymus is in the prayer room. It's a small secret room which is connected to his bedchamber." He pressed a small key into the Jew's hand. "There's another way into the prayer room which only Didymus and I know. In the mural of Mark Antony and Cleopatra, there is a tiny hole in the eye of the asp. Take care that no one sees you."

 

Mashiach smiled gratefully at the gladiator and bowed to him. "Thank you, Master. You honor me with your trust."

 

Before he could leave, Demetrius grabbed his upper arm. "Heed my words, Mashiach. I do not want you to hurt him again."

 

"I won't, Master," the Jew swore determinedly. "Not ever."

 

Demetrius could not help smiling as he watched Mashiach hurry back inside the estate. "Didymus, it seems your observations about our stubborn Jew are correct. He might be the right one after all."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Having seen said mural in the past when he and the other gladiators were summoned for briefings prior to the games, Mashiach found it easily, as well as the keyhole Demetrius told him about. In his excitement to see Didymus, the Jew never noticed the steward who was constantly spying on him and had seen him disappear through the small doorway that opened in one panel of the mural.

 

The tunnel behind the mural was narrow and a bit cramped for a man of Mashiach's size. Thankfully, it was well-lit because of the lines of small windows which drew light from the torches in the chambers of the estate. The tunnel, the Jew observed, sloped down to an open doorway from which issued tissues of soft gold light.

 

Mashiach emerged into a small marble room. There were no furnishings of any kind, except for a marble altar on which stood a simple wooden cross. Sitting before the cross was a thin chest. Because he was still in a somewhat elevated position, the Jew could see that inside the chest was a stained white folded cloth, a garment of some kind—maybe a toga or a robe. Two lit candles stood on opposite sides of the altar. Didymus was kneeling on the cold stone floor, his head lowered and his hands clasped in prayer.

 

"Please," Didymus sobbed. The light that fell upon his cheek revealed tear tracks. "Please keep them safe."

 

Realizing that he was intruding into a private moment, Mashiach made to turn back, but his big bulk caused him to block one window, so that his shadow fell beside the younger man, who noticed it at once.

 

"Demetrius, is something wrong? I thought you'd be gone by now," Didymus inquired as he slowly turned, only to stiffen when he beheld the Jew frozen in place at the doorway, caught in the act of retreating. "Mashiach, what are you doing here?" the Roman demanded, frowning. "How did you find this room?"

 

"I asked Master Demetrius where I could find you," Mashiach answered in reluctance. "Please don't be angry with him. I…I wished to speak with you privately."

 

"Whatever business you have with me, we cannot talk about it in here, private though it is." Didymus glanced both at the cross and the garment inside the chest. "It would be very disrespectful. Please wait."

 

As Mashiach watched, the Roman gave the cross before him a bow. To his surprise, Didymus did not cross himself the way he and the other Christians did. Standing, Didymus approached the altar and reverently closed the chest. He picked it up and, taking out a small key hidden within the folds of his toga, placed the chest inside a drawer, pushed it closed, and locked it.

 

Only then realizing that he had been weeping while praying, Didymus brushed the wetness from his face with a quick swipe of his hand. He motioned to a side door. "Follow me."

 

The door led into another narrow tunnel. Although Mashiach had to turn his body sideways to get through, Didymus did not have such problems because of his slender build. When they reached the end, the Roman pressed on a frieze and a hidden door pushed open to reveal his private chamber. Mashiach could not help breathing a sigh when he stepped into the spacious suite; he felt constricted in those secret tunnels.

 

As he closed the wall panel, Didymus wasted no time in demanding again, "What is it that you want to speak with me about?"

 

Mashiach did not speak. Instead, he tugged free the pouch hanging from his belt. The shock on Didymus' face was akin to a man who had just been slapped when the Jew opened the pouch to reveal the armband.

 

"I…I was in the market this morning and I saw you…with your friend…looking at this. I saw how much you desired this so I…"

 

Didymus' answer, however, caused his heart to sink. "Why did you buy this? Didn't the merchant tell you that Caesar was eyeing this armband as well?" His steely blue gray eyes narrowed in a smoldering glare. "And what are you planning to demand in exchange, if I should accept this, which, truth to tell, I am NOT inclined to do? Sexual favors, because I am your 'slave'? I thought I disgust you."

 

"No, I want nothing," Mashiach countered. "I wished to give this to you as a gift."

 

"I need no gifts from you, especially one which could incite Caesar's wrath!" Didymus shook his head, groaning. "I have so much to worry about right now. I can't take anymore!"

 

The Jew's confused heart could not bear the visible anguish on the Roman's face. "I am so sorry, My Lord. I only wished to show you my gratitude, for the kind and just way you have treated all of us, me especially. No other master would've treated us humanely as you have done. That is why I…" He faltered at the last, dipping his eyes in humility. "…I have witnessed for myself the kind of man you truly are. Yet, I have allowed my hatred and prejudice to blind me to the truth.  No words could fully convey my deep regret for the atrocious way I had treated you."

 

"Why should you feel sorry when you were absolutely right to call me a deviant, a whore? No matter what good I do, I will always be thought of as a frivolous profligate in the same league as Caligula himself." Didymus whirled to face the Jew. "But I cannot help the way I am!" A tear trickled from his eye. "Every night, I go to that room. I kneel before the cross and the…" He paused for a moment. It was obvious that he was referring to the garment. Didymus breathed out instead. "…And I pray, maybe not for absolution, but for understanding. That He might overlook this single flaw and see that, in spite of this one moral, spiritual weakness, I am a good person. That I care for His children here on earth just as He did." A wry laugh burst from his lips. "But why am I telling you this? You are the last man in the world who could understand my feelings."

 

Didymus was going to put some distance between them; the Jew saw the Roman's eyes dart toward a side door. Mashiach did not give him the chance to flee, taking the other man's left hand before he could make a single step away. Before Didymus could utter a word of protest, Mashiach gently squeezed his fingers together and slipped the armband up until it was fitted snugly around his arm.

 

"Mashiach…" Didymus' other hand went up to remove the armband, but the Jew seized it has well.

 

Unable to resist the sudden urge, Mashiach leaned forward to kiss him.

 

**_"STOP!"_ **

 

Mashiach halted, his heart sinking at the hardness of the younger man's face.

 

"But, My Lord, I thought…"

 

"You are confused, Mashiach, about whatever feelings you have for me. I can see it in your eyes," Didymus stated bluntly. "I will not have you kiss me with your emotions in such a state."

 

The Jew heaved a sigh of surrender and flopped his arms down. "You are right. I am confused…but at the same time, disturbed."

 

"Explain."

 

"I am accustomed to see you…with your admirers. I couldn't care less if you fucked them in any place, any manner that pleased you. But when it comes to Alcinder Berengarius…" Mashiach chewed on his lower lip. "Just the thought that you and him are…"

 

"There is nothing between Alcinder and me but friendship, albeit a close one, owing to his…mission. Even if he is just my friend, I believe it is but natural for me to worry about him and pray for his safety."

 

Mashiach found himself cheering up at that revelation. "Oh…just a friend. I…I'm glad."

 

"Frankly, I don't understand why you should be happy about it," Didymus said, his voice low and bitter. "Please take this bauble back. I won't accept it."

 

"Then, I refuse to take it back. I bought that armband especially for you. It would hurt and offend me most deeply if you refuse it."

 

Seeing the stubbornness in the Jew's face, Didymus sighed. "If that is your decision. I suppose it is but…proper…for me to give you something in exchange."

 

Before Mashiach could reply in the negative, Didymus uncinched the folds of his toga at the waist and let the heavy garment pool around his ankles. The Jew could not stop himself from staring at the naked, beautiful young man before him, the only adornment on his body the gleaming gold band around his arm.

 

Didymus padded toward the bed and stretched over the soft linen sheets. He then got up on his hands and knees, backside lifted to the startled Jew.

 

"No," Mashiach said. "Not like that. I want to see your face."

 

"You will take me the way I am right now. This…submissive…position is more fitting for someone like me." Mashiach would have contradicted him, but the Roman quickly added, "Besides, if I lie on my back, it would encourage you to kiss me, something that I don't want you to do, not while you are uncertain and indecisive of your feelings toward me."

 

In the hour or two that followed, Mashiach claimed Didymus' supple flesh. While he relished the velvet heat of the younger man as he plowed his cock deep into him, he also felt profound sorrow and guilt for what he was doing. Mashiach had glanced into the mirror near the bed and he saw tears streaming down Didymus' face. He wanted to soothe the Roman with gentle kisses on his nape and shoulder, but he dared not brush his lips against that fair skin. Instead, the Jew settled with pressing his forehead between the younger man's shoulderblades.

 

When he was finally spent, Mashiach carefully crept down from the bed. Didymus lay face down, unmoving, his head turned to the side. Not wanting to leave the Roman thus exposed, he pulled the sheets over his naked body.

 

"Master Didymus, I lo—"

 

"Don't say anymore, Mashiach. Please. Not until you are certain."

 

Mashiach did not say another word as he left Didymus' chamber.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Demetrius' inquiries that night yielded nothing. Whatever errand it was that Didymus entrusted to the former gladiator, Mashiach never knew what it was, although it definitely involved Alcinder Berengarius. Didymus' worry was made more apparent by his growing agitation, especially when Cassius Chaerea came to tell him that he had not heard from Alcinder.

 

They would discover the Praetorian Guard's fate a mere week later.

 

Didymus had summoned all the gladiators to announce that Caesar will be sponsoring games within seven days, and that the Emperor wanted only the best men to fight. Because there was very little time to prepare, Didymus ended up selecting those who were in the best physical condition. Mashiach, specifically, was requested by Caligula to fight in the final game.

 

On the day of the munus, Mashiach knew that something was not right when his fellow gladiator, a black slave named Remus told him after his match, "The man I fought with didn't put up much of a fight. He seemed hurt already and was just going through the motions of combat."

 

The same observation was given to him by the other men. One even remarked ruefully, "It wasn't a fight at all; it was slaughter."

 

When it was finally Mashiach's turn to step into the arena, he glanced up at Didymus, who was sitting in the pulvinar beside Caligula. There was no mistaking the horror and fear in the Roman's face. A short distance away from him stood his opponent—a Secutor, judging by his round, close-fitted helmet with its small eyeholes and wielding a spatha instead of a gladius. Just as his friends had said, the man seemed to be injured, favoring his right arm which was protected by a thick manica of leather. There was an old tilt to his left shoulder. Lying at his feet was the heavy body shield or scutum, which the fighter could not wield because of his injured shoulder.

 

Caligula stood up then and raised his right hand, silencing the viewers in the stands. Gesturing to the Secutor, he declared, "I present to you the foolish upstart who dared raise a rebellion against your beloved Caesar. Execution would have been the just punishment for one who has betrayed the Emperor. But I could not help admiring his gall and bravery for rising up against me. Instead of an execution, I have sentenced him to fight in this arena against our best and finest gladiator, Mashiach Ben-Alharon. If he should triumph over the Jew, he shall be spared. But if he should lose, he shall die, dishonored and his body thrown to the dogs, as befitting a traitor." He smiled at Mashiach. "If you should win, you can ask any reward of me, including your freedom."

 

Didymus' head whipped to the side, staring aghast at Caligula. Prudence prompted him to glare back down at the two combatants and keep his silence.

 

Caesar faced the two men. "Now… ** _FIGHT!_** "

 

The instant that their swords clashed, Mashiach knew for certain that his opponent was in no condition to fight. There was hardly any force behind his swing. Plus, blood began to trickle from the man's hand, coming from under the manica. Despite this, the gladiator fought back with what little strength was left to him.

 

"We don't need to do this!" Mashiach shouted. "I will concede! I won't fight an injured man!"

 

But the Secutor sneered at him. "Don't do me any favors, Jew! I would rather die than surrender to the slave who had captured the heart of the one I love!"

 

"What are you talking about?"

 

The Secutor, though, charged at him, swinging his sword in sweeping arcs so that Mashiach had to inch back. Angered and frustrated by the man's obstinacy, the Jew ducked to the side as the Secutor thrust forward. Spinning on one foot, Mashiach brought his sword up in an ascending stroke, his blade knocking the helmet off his opponent's head. Such was the force of the blow that the Secutor fell to his knees, panting for breath, his head lifted, so that a stunned Mashiach finally beheld that bloodied and swollen but still recognizable face.

 

**_Alcinder Berengarius!_ **

 

Alcinder saw the shocked recognition on the Jew's features. With a roar, he picked up his spatha and, gripping the hilt with both hands, put all of his strength in one final thrust.

 

Mashiach acted on instinct. As the disgraced Praetorian Guard came toward him, his grip tightened around his gladius. There was the sting of the blade as it cut the skin of his side. But the pain was overwhelmed by the feel of his sword burying deep into Alcinder's body.

 

"Protect him for me," Alcinder whispered, before he collapsed, writhing, to the ground.

 

At once roars of **_"KILL HIM!"_** and **_"DEATH!"_** erupted in the arena. Mashiach gazed at the man at his feet; from the position of the wound, he knew that he had missed the Guard's vital organs and that there was still a chance for him to be saved.

 

Noting the Jew's reluctance, Caligula rose from his seat once more and slowly raised his right hand. A thumb popped up—yes, Caesar desired death.

 

Mashiach cocked his head up in defiance and threw his gladius to the ground. **_"NO!"_**

 

Caligula's eyes grew wide in disbelief before narrowing in visible displeasure and outrage. "You dare defy me?"

 

"Not defiance, Your Majesty," the Jew countered. "But I will ask for the reward that you promised me, and I want this man's life to be spared."

 

Caesar burst into laughter, which was echoed by the nobles, although the public seemed uncertain on how to react at this sudden change of events. "Mashiach, my boy! You've fought in many games. You know you cannot demand your reward without fulfilling my command."

 

"But you said 'If you win', and I have. This man may not be dead, but he could no longer fight. This counts as a win, and I will have my reward from Caesar."

 

**_"KILL HIM…NOW!"_ **

 

**_"NO!"_ **

 

Caligula's jaw hardened. "Since you persist in disobeying me, then you leave me no choice. **_GUARDS!_** "

 

At that command, soldiers rushed into the arena. They surrounded the Jew and the fallen Praetorian, pointing their swords and spears at them. And, yet, Mashiach could see the hesitation in their eyes. One soldier glanced at the entrance from where they came. Sure enough, Cassius Chaerea stood there, uncertain of what to do.

 

But then, Caesar commanded, **_"KILL THEM BOTH!"_**

 

As the soldiers rushed towards them, Mashiach could only close his eyes and wait for the killing blow.

 

**_"CLASH!"_ **

 

That sudden, unexpected sound made Mashiach's eyes snap open. Just in the nick of time! He saw a thin shadow bearing down on him from above. One backward step and a spear landed, sharp point first, right in the spot where he stood. His mouth gaped open, seeing the figure poised in a defensive posture before them.

 

Didymus Gallio stood with long legs spread and braced, his tense calves bared because he had hitched up the folds of his toga, slinging it on the crook of his left arm. In his right hand, he gripped in readiness the hilt of his gladius, almost taunting the soldiers before him to attack.

 

The Roman must have leaped from Caesar's box and his garment had caught on something. His toga was torn at the left shoulder, baring both shoulder and upper arm, so that the armband gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. There was no mistaking the look of shock on Caesar's face when he saw that armband.

 

Noting the indecisiveness on the soldiers' faces, Didymus made an abrupt turn on his heel. Grim, he strode past the Jew, going toward the Praetorian Guard. For a moment, their eyes locked, and Alcinder relaxed minutely, almost imperceptible. Then, before Mashiach's stunned eyes, Didymus plunged his sword into the Guard's belly.

 

"Thank you…Didymus," Alcinder breathed out those final words before he fell limp and expired.

 

The silence that descended upon the arena was deafening, with no one daring to breathe or to move.

 

"Has the mighty Caesar's command been fulfilled to his satisfaction?" Didymus inquired, still staring down at Alcinder's body; his voice was at normal pitch, although it seemed like the damning query had been shouted out. Then, the Roman whirled around and faced the Emperor, his sharp blue gray eyes flashing with fury. " ** _HOW DARE YOU SHAME ME!_** Mashiach is **_MY_** gladiator! Your solemn promise of a reward to him is indirectly an oath made to me, by virtue of my being his trainer! He did not even ask for liberatio, which is his right; instead, he asked for his opponent's life to be spared. And you would insist that he kill a wounded man in cold blood, contradictory to the reward that he wanted? If you desired Alcinder Berengarius dead, you should've finished him off yourself instead of putting up this mockery of a fight. My gladiator is **_NOT_** your executioner!"

 

Didymus turned to Mashiach, nodding to the dead body. "Pick him up. We're bringing him back with us, give him the burial that he deserves."

 

As the Jew hastened to do as he was told, Caesar threatened, "Don't you dare take that traitor, Didymus!"

 

"Or what? You'll kill me? In front of all the people of Rome? Go ahead!" The Roman even spread his arms tauntingly to the soldiers. "Come at me! But I swear on my life, Mashiach shall walk out of this arena with Alcinder!" To Mashiach, he commanded, "Go."

 

"But, Master…"

 

**_"I SAID GO!"_ **

 

**_"GUARDS! DON'T LET THEM OUT OF THIS ARENA!"_ **

****

But the soldiers were torn between fulfilling their duty to the Emperor and their true desire that their fallen comrade would have a proper burial in spite of his disgrace.

 

Suddenly, from the crowd, a clear voice rang out, " ** _LET THEM GO! LET THEM GO!"_** This cheer was taken up by Didymus' gladiators who have been watching what was happening from the Porta Triumphalis. Within minutes, the arena was being rocked by cries of **_"LET THEM GO!"_ ** and stomping of feet. It was a truly awesome sight, and Mashiach, overwhelmed with emotion by this show of support, hugged Alcinder's body protectively to his chest.

 

Caligula knew better than to go against the wishes of an irate mob. Exasperated, he plopped back down into his seat, flapping his arms in defeat. At that gesture, the crowd rose to their feet, clapping and cheering their approval of Caesar's decision.

 

Mashiach would have preened at their triumph. What stopped him was the unmistakable sorrow in Didymus' eyes.

 

"Let's go, Mashiach," Didymus said, unconsciously gripping the Jew's arm, a move which did not escape the notice of the stunned Emperor. They marched solemnly to the Gate of Life. The Jew was greeted with approving pats on the back from his fellow gladiators. Cassius was also there, and he took Alcinder's body, nodding to Mashiach in gratitude.

 

A chill went up Mashiach's spine though when the Praetorian Guard said to Didymus, "Thank you, my friend. But you are aware that Caesar will not allow this insult to pass."

 

"I know, Cassius," Didymus simply confirmed. "I know."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Unlike previous munera, they arrived at Didymus' estate with no feasts waiting for them. Instead, they were greeted by organized chaos. Servants and slaves were rushing to and fro with crates and sacks, loading them into waiting carts filled with hay or covered in burlap in order to conceal their contents. Mashiach and the gladiators would frown whenever a servant or slave approached Didymus to give him a simple nod or a teary smile. One woman—the cook—carrying her son in her arms gave the Roman a kiss, whispering, "Thank you, My Lord."

 

Before Mashiach could ask what was going on, Demetrius hurried toward Didymus. "I've already had most of our people safely evacuated from the estate. Some I was able to pay for passage on board ships; others joined merchants' caravans. I have the routes for all of them so we can trace if they were able to make it back to their homes safe and sound."

 

"That's good," Didymus said, not hiding his weariness. "You must hasten the evacuation though. Something happened at the games."

 

"What?"

 

"Alcinder is dead. I don't want to say more, but Caesar already knows that there's a plot against him."

 

Demetrius breathed in heavily. "I suspected as much. One of the servants, the steward Ianus… He's a spy for Caesar. I ordered him detained in a cell when I found him trying to find a way into the prayer room." At this last, he gave Mashiach a dark glance. "Somehow, he managed to escape."

 

"I doubt if he has already informed Caligula about our plans, considering that we just came from the games. Caesar wouldn't stop us at this time, certainly not while the people are on our side after what Mashiach and I had done."

 

Demetrius frowned at that. "Why? What did you do?"

 

"I'll tell you about it later, my friend. We have more pressing matters to attend to, foremost among them is getting everyone out of the estate. If Caesar is going to act, it will be in the dead of night when everyone's asleep. Just continue with what you're doing, but do it faster. We must not waste any more time."

 

"Didymus, your concern for everyone's welfare is laudable. But what about you? I could take care of everyone. But you must escape with the group that will be leaving in a few minutes."

 

"No," Didymus said with a shake of his head. "The others are more important. Besides, I need to do…something." Not wanting to hear anymore arguments from the older man, he hurried inside the estate.

 

"You men, get your belongings," Demetrius ordered the confused gladiators. "I've made accommodations for all of you to leave the city. Once you're ready, come to me, and I shall inform you about the evacuation procedures and the routes to take. Didymus also has gold for each of you, as thanks for your loyalty and all your hard work. Now go and get ready!"

 

The gladiators did not move at first, their worried eyes focused on the estate where their Master had disappeared into. It was only when Demetrius barked out his command again that they ran to the barracks.

 

All of them. Except Mashiach.

 

"Master, please. What's going on?"

 

Seeing that the Jew will not obey unless given answers, Demetrius exhaled. "The Praetorian Guards are plotting to assassinate Caesar. That day you first saw them in the pavilion, they informed Didymus of their intent. The problem was Alcinder Berengarius and his group of young upstarts wanted the deed done immediately. Cassius Chaerea had hoped that Didymus could convince him to wait. But apparently Alcinder did not choose to do so and went ahead with their plans because he disappeared. Thankfully, Didymus and I have already set up an evacuation plan even long before, in case Caligula, for some reason, would turn his ire upon Didymus, just as he had done years back with Didymus' father, Marcellus Gallio."

 

"As punishment, Caesar made Berengarius fight in the games earlier against me," Mashiach revealed. "Judging by his weakened state, the poor man was obviously tortured. I…I tried to get Caesar to spare his life…for Didymus. Caesar ordered the both of us killed. In the end, it was Didymus who did what I could not do; he took Berengarius' life."

 

"You fool! Have you any idea what you've done? What Didymus did… ** _FOR YOU?_** What you've forced him to reveal to Caesar by taking your side?"

 

"Yes, Master," the Jew confessed. "I'm painfully aware now of **_everything_** that Master Didymus had done for me. If I could only be given the chance to rectify my mistakes…"

 

Demetrius gazed into the Jew's eyes and saw determination and sincerity. He clapped a hand on Mashiach's shoulder. "Then go to him. If you wish to make things right between you, there is one task that Didymus will entrust to you."

 

Mashiach nodded and entered the estate, heading straight for Didymus' chamber.

 

As he opened the door quietly, the Jew found the Roman standing in front of a table; his body slouched as though he were carrying a very heavy weight. His right hand was cupped over his mouth to stop his sobs, but the tears flowed freely from his eyes, dripping on the stained garment which he had taken from the prayer room. It seemed Didymus was about to wrap the garment in the oilskin which was spread out on the table.

 

"Master Didymus…" Mashiach began hesitantly.

 

At the sound of his voice, Didymus rushed toward him, pummeling his body with fists but with no strength behind the blows. To the Jew, it seemed as if all courage and hope had been drained from the Roman following Alcinder's death.

 

But what Didymus cried next shook Mashiach to the core of his being.

 

**_"Damn you! DAMN YOU! Why, of all people, did it have to be you? Why couldn't it have been Alcinder instead? Why does it have to be a cruel Jew like you, who would never understand my longing, the need of my heart?"_ **

 

Mashiach seized Didymus' wrists and pulled him close. Before the Roman could break free, he wrapped his arms tight around his slender figure and leaned over, kissing him full on the lips. Didymus struggled to break free, but Mashiach only increased the pressure, his body grinding against the younger man so that his need was undeniable.

 

When Mashiach pulled away, he saw the confusion in those blue gray eyes. Brushing his thumb over those flushed lips, he whispered, "I understand now, Didymus. I'm so sorry that it took so long for me to understand."

 

Didymus gazed questioningly in the Jew's face. Where once there was anger, disgust, and confusion, there was now certainty and---dare he hope?—love.

 

All doubt flew from his mind when Mashiach swept deft fingers over his toga, and his clothes fell to the floor. Mashiach's finger brushed over his armband, as he smiled reassuringly. Then, the Jew picked him up with great care as though he were a virgin bride and carried him to the bed, laying him on his back.

 

After that, there was nothing but passionate love and mind-numbing pleasure. Didymus clung to Mashiach with arms and legs like a drowning man, their lips joined, allowing only small sips of air. The Jew explored the planes of his body with mouth and fingertips, lingering over the spots, which caused brilliant colors to flash before his eyes. For his part, Mashiach relished the exquisite reactions he was getting from the Roman. A caress on a collarbone, a suck upon a turgid nipple, the poke of a tongue tip in the hollow of the navel…Didymus would moan and writhe on the white linen sheets he laid upon, wanting more. When he took the Roman in his mouth, Mashiach watched, pleased, as Didymus' body formed a graceful arch, his long legs spread and tense, and when he came, his seed was as sweet as the ambrosia of the gods.

 

Mashiach fumbled for the bottle of oil on the table, the cork popping open so that the slick fluid spilled all over his hand. It was not a waste though. Because his fingers were so slippery, it allowed him to prepare the Roman's channel without causing pain. Even when he at last thrust into the younger man, his cock slid in without any obstructions. As he plunged in and out—his pace slow and careful at first and gradually becoming pounding and hard—Mashiach was gratified by subtle jerks of Didymus' hips, desiring to keep the Jew's length inside him. They climaxed at the same time, Didymus' come slicking their pressed bellies, while Mashiach emptied himself into the Roman's heat.

 

But this first coupling was not enough for them. They would repeat this passionate joining again and again, unmindful of the passage of time or the threat of Caesar's wrath. This was a love, a need which both had long waited for fulfillment. Nothing else mattered, nothing else was important…but this.

 

When both were at last sated and completely spent, it was close to midnight. The full moon's silvery beam passed through the window, illuminating Didymus' face and the fear that was reflected in his eyes.

 

Mashiach kissed the tip of the Roman's nose tenderly, the brilliance of his smile answer enough to the question that was inside Didymus' mind. Still, the Jew put his reply into words.

 

"I have no regrets, My Dominus. I love you."

 

Didymus was going to say something. But the doors burst open, revealing a panting Demetrius.

 

**_"CAESAR'S MEN! THEY'RE COMING!"_ **

 

The two men leaped out of bed. While they hastened to put on their tunics and sandals, Didymus asked, "Have you gotten everyone out?"

 

"Yes, but the gladiators are in the secret tunnel. They refuse to leave without you and Mashiach."

 

"Only Mashiach is going with you."

 

Mashiach froze at that statement. "Didymus…what are you saying? You must come with us!"

 

"I'm the one Caesar wants," Didymus stated grimly. "Everyone else is expendable."

 

"For God's sake, Didymus!" Demetrius exclaimed. "You need not sacrifice yourself!"

**_"Then what am I good for, Demetrius?"_** That anguished cry took the two men aback. Didymus' jaw clenched. "When you took me in, you told me that I had a purpose. You gave me…that…" His eyes turned to the stained garment on the table. "…Because you said that it was precious to my father. That I should hold on to it until the opportunity arose that I could give it back to the man to whom it belongs. But, right from the beginning, I should never have been entrusted with this…this burden. I tried to be a good Christian, tried to be worthy of… ** _it_** , but all my efforts, all the goodness that I have done meant nothing in the end because of what I am." A weary smile formed on his lips. "I'm a sinner, Demetrius. Maybe one of the worst, because I am a _cinaedus_ , a lover of men. But, surely God will not begrudge me the true calling of my heart."

 

Didymus carefully wrapped the garment in the oiled skin and tied it with twine. He then presented it to Mashiach. "My sources have informed me that the Fisherman is in Antioch. I have already fulfilled my duty as its keeper. This should now return to its rightful owner."

 

"But what…" Mashiach's question was silenced by a hard, bruising kiss.

 

"This is my legacy which I entrust to you, my love. Please don't fail me," Didymus whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Demetrius, take him away. I'll buy you some time."

 

 ** _"NO!"_** Mashiach cried, but Demetrius was already pulling his arm.

 

As the two gladiators exited the chamber, they saw soldiers appear at the end of the hallway.

 

 ** _"THERE THEY ARE!"_** one soldier shouted, pointing his sword in their direction.

 

Before the soldiers could get close to them, Didymus emerged from his room, bearing two curved scimitars called siccae in each hand. He charged toward the soldiers, the blades of his swords flashing in the air. With the grace of a dancer, the Roman felled the soldiers one by one, slashing them on throat and belly. He then went in the direction of the front hall.

 

Worried for his lover, Mashiach broke free from Demetrius' grip and ran after him, only to be stopped by a wall of flames. As he looked through the blaze, he saw Didymus breaking oil lamps on the floor. With torch in hand, he set ablaze all furniture and curtains. More soldiers rushed inside at that moment, surrounding the Roman.

 

 ** _"DIDYMUS!"_** Mashiach called out in desperation, not realizing that he had called the Roman by his name for the first time.

 

The proud Eques turned to him, his form silhouetted in the flames and the gold of his armband gleaming bright. Didymus gave the Jew one last final smile before focusing all of his attention on the soldiers.

 

Mashiach was about to jump through the blaze to help his lover. But he never got the chance. There was a hard blow to the back of his head and everything went black.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

A cloaked figure ran through Rome's streets, heading for the garrison, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head and right fist. There was only one thing on his mind—to get his lover back.

 

Mashiach had regained consciousness in the tunnels, being dragged on a makeshift stretcher by a couple of gladiators. His mind still ringing from the blow, he barely heard Demetrius explain to the others that the tunnel led to the Aqua Claudia, one of the aqueducts that Caesar had built. What did register to him was the sound of Demetrius' voice. Lurching to his feet, he punched the ex-gladiator hard in the face. Before the others could stop him, Mashiach seized a cloak from one slave and raced back to Rome.

 

It was easy for him to get inside the garrison. All he had to do was disable one soldier and steal his armor. Since the guards were speaking of one prisoner alone, it was also easy to determine where Didymus was taken—a cell in the east corner of the garrison—although he was disturbed by the offensive, lewd way they chatted about the Roman. The cell itself was guarded, not by soldiers but by Praetorian Guards, indicating that Caesar himself was inside. What disturbed him were the sounds of whip cracks coming from within.

 

Mashiach instead went to the side of the building and found a low, small barred window hidden by tall grasses. Swiftly and quietly, he got down on his belly and peered inside, only to have his heart stop and his mind go red with rage.

 

Didymus was shackled by his wrists and ankles to two posts. The chains on his wrists passed through two loops on the posts above his head, going down to a pulley which could raise and lower his body. His once beautiful, pale flesh was now a grotesque bloody canvas of whipmarks and welts, more of which were being added with such ferocity by Emperor Caligula himself with a whip. His right leg was slashed open, bound by a filthy bandage. With every crack of the whip upon his skin, Didymus' body would jerk, but he would not utter a sound.

 

Tiring of this sport, Caligula tossed the whip on the wooden table and picked up a knife. As Mashiach watched in anguish, Caesar brought the knife up and cut deep into Didymus' left cheek. The young Roman did not even flinch. When Caligula drew back to survey his handiwork, Didymus spat in his face, prompting the Emperor to drive his fist into the bleeding wound on his cheek.

 

"I am very disappointed in you, Didymus," Caligula declared with a cluck of his tongue. "I would've given you everything—riches beyond your wild imaginings, perhaps even the whole empire. But no. Not only are you among those who plotted to kill me, you've even consorted with a lowly slave, a Jew!"

 

Didymus' laughter was dry and raspy, and yet mocking. "Well, Your Majesty, I can definitely say that he was a better man than you'll ever be." He even punctuated this with a lick of his cracked, parched lips.

 

Caligula could not stand this final insult. "Since you enjoy the attentions of the lowborn so much, then you wouldn't mind if I have my trusted servants and some of the vile prisoners feast upon your flesh." He turned to the dark shadow in the corner. "Here's your reward. Have your fill of him!"

 

The Jew gasped as the steward Ianus stepped forth, grinning lasciviously through his thick beard. "You are very generous, Your Majesty."

 

As Caesar left the cell, a torturer joined the steward. He loosened the chains with the pulley, so that Didymus fell to his knees, although his arms and upper body hung horizontal to the floor. With the Roman in such a vulnerable position, the two men eagerly took their places—the steward behind and the torturer at the head of their hapless prisoner.

 

When Ianus and the torturer simultaneously thrust their cocks into Didymus' ass and mouth, Mashiach was going to charge into the room and hack them to pieces. But then, a strong hand clamped over his mouth and a brawny arm wrapped around his body.

 

 ** _"QUIET, YOUFOOL!"_** Demetrius hissed in his ear. **_"Don't make it any worse for Didymus than it already is!"_**

 

Mashiach struggled to break free from the ex-gladiator's hold, but Demetrius' arms were like iron. He could only watch in horror and despair as Didymus was brutally raped by his tormentors. In his anguish, he never realized that the wet drops that fell upon his face were not rain but Demetrius' tears.

 

When more came into the cell, Demetrius decided that they had seen enough. He hauled a mumbling, struggling Mashiach away from the window. Demetrius feared that the Jew's struggles might bring unwanted attention on them.

 

To his relief, he saw the familiar figure of the Praetorian Guard Cassius Chaerea, hurrying toward the building where Didymus was incarcerated. Seeing them, Cassius switched directions and headed straight for them. Seizing Mashiach's other arm, together, they brought the Jew out of the garrison.

 

Mashiach dropped to his knees before the Guard. "Please," was the only word he could say as he groveled at Cassius' feet. "Please!"

 

"You don't have to beg," the Guard said grimly. "I'll see what I can do."

 

Saying no more, Cassius ran back into the garrison.

 

Mashiach remained kneeling on the earth, feeling weak and useless. All he could see before his eyes was poor Didymus being tortured and ravished.

 

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He had forgotten about Demetrius.

 

"Come! It's time I told you everything about Didymus."

 

Before they could leave though, who should saunter outside the garrison with a smug look of satisfaction on his face and tossing a gold armband in his hand than that traitorous steward Ianus.

 

Mashiach leaped to his feet before Demetrius could stop him. As he threw himself at the shocked steward, he plunged his sword again and again into his guts. As a finishing touch, he cut off the spy's cock and balls and threw them into a pile of manure.

 

Vengeance partially satisfied, the Jew picked up the armband and tucked it inside his tunic. Nodding to Demetrius, he said in answer to the gladiator's statement, "Yes, Teacher. Please tell me everything."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The two gladiators sat before a small campfire they had built a distance away from the city.

 

"Tribune Marcellus Gallio, Didymus' father, was my Master but he later became my friend," Demetrius began as he stared into the fire. "It was his purchase of me which drew Caligula's ire upon him initially; Caligula wanted me, but Marcellus won the bidding. Because of this, he was ordered transferred to Jerusalem, where he was in charge of the detail assigned to crucify Jesus Christ. Marcellus won Jesus' robe in a dice game. In my anger at their cruelty toward the Messiah, I took the robe from him." A brief pause. "I never knew that Marcellus would be haunted by guilt over the crucifixion.

 

"When next we met in Palestine, Marcellus was ordered by then Emperor Tiberius to find and destroy the robe which was in my possession. But the robe healed him of his guilt and madness, and he decided to become a Christian." Demetrius smiled at the memory. "Marcellus and I joined Jesus' disciple Peter in spreading His Word. Didymus' mother Diana, who was formerly betrothed to Caligula, was in love with Marcellus, and she too became a Christian. By that time, Caligula was already the emperor, and he commanded that Marcellus and Diana be executed, and the robe was entrusted to me again. I decided to leave Rome with the robe, because the city held so many painful memories for me. In the years that I was gone, Caesar decreed that the Roman Empire be rid of the 'blight' that was the House of Gallio. He confiscated all the lands and properties of the Gallio family. He ordered slaughtered all living kin and those who were loyal to them. Except for one.

 

"A…crisis of faith…made me return to the city I so despised. For a time, I was a gladiator and a Tribune in the Praetorian Guard in service to Caesar. There were two reasons why I ultimately broke off with Caligula. First was that the robe which I thought was a useless, ordinary garment, healed Lucia, the woman I love. The second reason was that I discovered that my friend Marcellus and his beloved wife had a son before they were executed.

 

"I realized then how mysterious God works. The babe was in the care of a former servant of the Gallio family, the same man who had given me the robe as per orders of Marcellus and Diana. The man was put to the sword. But the child was spared by Caligula himself. Perhaps Caesar became attracted to the babe's exquisite beauty. Or maybe he saw the boy as the means by which he could deliver the ultimate humiliation upon the Gallio name—by turning Marcellus' son into his whore when he grew older. Caligula, however, sorely underestimated this child."

 

Demetrius shook his head and laughed lightly. "You should've seen Didymus back then, Mashiach. The first time I laid eyes on him, he was just five years old. And yet, he was no different as a child than he is now. Didymus was always arrogant yet very perceptive. He knew that he was no ordinary ward of Caesar's and that Caligula had ulterior motives upon him. His suspicions were only strengthened when I revealed to him the truth about his parentage. Knowing the dangers to the boy, I decided to fight in the arena for the right to raise him. Caligula was shocked that I made such a request, but he had no choice but to give Didymus to me. What Caesar refused to surrender are the properties of the Gallio family until Didymus reached adulthood and if he would accept his position as Caligula's _concubinus_. Obviously, Didymus didn't want to be his concubine, so he achieved the rank of Equestrian through his own efforts and with fight training from yours truly. Because of his numerous accomplishments, Caesar had no choice but to restore his family's properties to him. But Caligula remained determined to have him."

 

"Why would Didymus refuse Caligula?" Mashiach asked at last. "Caesar said earlier that he would've given him everything."

 

"Yes, but at great cost to the Gallio name, particularly their name as Christians. Just think. The son of two respected Christians serving as whore to a heathen emperor. It was bad enough that by creating a façade of licentiousness and frivolity to make himself appear a partner in Caligula's perversity, he was already viewed with abhorrence by both Romans and Christians alike. And, yes, there is the fact that he **_is_** a cinaedus, because he does not feel any pleasure in the arms of women and could only find his desires sated by men. Imagine what people would say if they found out that a loathsome sinner was chosen to be the keeper of the robe."

 

Mashiach's head lifted, his face mirroring his shock. But Demetrius went on, "Yes, Mashiach, Didymus was indeed chosen. Jesus appeared before me while I was retrieving the robe in Cana where I had hidden it. He showed me the nail marks on his hands and the spear wound in his side. The Master's command was that I should entrust the robe to Didymus for safekeeping. Oh, Didymus didn't believe it at first! He thought I was drunk! But when he touched the robe, he was blessed with a vision of his parents, a vision which I too saw with him. Although he believed himself to be unworthy, Didymus kept the robe safe until someone worthier would take his place as its keeper."

 

"And Didymus had chosen me," Mashiach said bitterly. "But look what I did to him! I'm not worthy to be the robe's keeper, much more of the love that Didymus gave to me!"

 

"Then be worthy by fulfilling this final task that Didymus had requested of you. Be the robe's keeper until that time you can give it back to Peter."

 

The Jew stood up then, his strong gaze fixed on the city in the distance. "No, Master Demetrius. There is only one man worthy of being the robe's keeper, and I intend to get him back."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Because of the deep wound in his leg, Didymus was having difficulty keeping up with the fast pace of his guards, probably at the command of Caesar. The bastard wanted to deny him a dignified death and so was being hustled along like a lowly criminal to his execution.

 

"We'll take over from here!" That booming voice could only belong to Cassius Chaerea. There were protests from his escorts, but they were roughly sent off by the Praetorian Guards.

 

Didymus looked questioningly at the centurion.

 

"You've given Alcinder Berengarius an honorable death. This is the least we could do for you. Right, men?" At this question, the other Guards nodded their approval and formed two straight lines on either side of him. Cassius frowned darkly, seeing that Didymus was completely naked. "Why are you not wearing a _subligaculum_?"

 

"Caesar wanted to deprive me of my dignity by stripping me of all clothing, even a simple loincloth," Didymus replied in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "But he could no longer humiliate me. I've already triumphed, Cassius. Those who were in my care are free from Caligula's wrath. He could not harm those whom I love anymore."

 

Tears limned Cassius' eyes as he embraced the brave young man and gave him a kiss on the brow. "Have courage, Didymus. All your sufferings are at an end."

 

"Yes," Didymus agreed wholeheartedly with the centurion, turning his gaze toward the entrance to the arena. "It's a wonderful day to die."

 

The young Roman straightened his back and cocked his head up proudly. Although the shackles at his feet forced him to walk in small steps, the lines of Praetorian Guards kept pace with him. Cassius gave him one final bow before going in the opposite direction, presumably to take his appointed place in Caesar's box.

 

As they emerged into the blazing heat of the high noon sun, they were blasted by deafening shouts and cries of **_"DEATH!"_** from the mob that filled the stands of the Amphitheatrum Statilii Taurii. Didymus smiled inwardly. He always wanted to die in this grand amphitheater, and not in the smaller forums where the gladiator games were usually held. His death would be the spectacle he dreamed it to be.

 

Didymus was brought by two Guards to the lone post at the center of the arena; his bound wrists shackled to the hook above his head. As soon as the Guards left him albeit reluctantly, the mob began pelting him with rotten vegetables and other garbage. The deluge only stopped when Caesar stood up, raising a silencing hand.

 

"I, Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, find this man Didymus Gallio guilty of the crimes of treason and sodomy—of allowing himself, a freeborn male citizen Rome, to be used by a lowly slave," Caligula declared. "I would also find him guilty for being a Christian, but the fact that he had so debased himself, which is against the so-called Messiah's teachings, I don't believe that the worshippers of that sect would even consider him to be one of them."

 

There were a few shocked gasps among the people, followed by roars and jeers. Didymus suspected that there were a few Christians in the crowd. He hoped that they could forgive a sinner like him.

 

"What say you to these charges, Didymus?" Caesar suddenly asked, the tone in his voice taunting, challenging.

 

"I plead innocent to all three charges, Your Majesty," Didymus answered back. "I may have been friends with Alcinder Berengarius, but I never approved of his plan to assassinate Caesar…even if he and many others have just cause to do so." This remark caused troubled murmurs to arise from the mob. "I am also not a Christian, although I have longed to become a member of God's family. But I could not be baptized into the faith, knowing that I love another man so much that I had given him my body, my heart, and my soul. May God and Jesus in Heaven forgive me, but I cannot give him up." He turned sharp eyes to Caligula. "If there is any crime that I am guilty of, it is that Caesar was not the first to plunder my flesh. In that regard, I would rather die than spread my legs to a man as corrupt and as vile as Caligula."

 

The Emperor was livid at Didymus' audacity of voicing out the truth of his intentions to the people of Rome."Very well! Didymus Gallio, I sentence you to death. Lions shall tear through your flesh and gnaw on your bones until nothing is left of you. So Caesar commands; so shall it be done!"

 

At this order, cheers and roars erupted from the mob once more. Didymus, however, could no longer hear their cries for his blood. Instead, he felt a strange relief that it was going to be over very soon. His body was screaming in pain and his eyesight was dimming, and he just wanted it all to end. He was so very, very tired. The sound of trap doors creaking open barely registered to him. Didymus watched blearily as four lions rush out of the trap doors, and he could hear another four growling behind him. They were fierce looking creatures but a bit scrawny. The _Venatores_ or animal hunters may have starved the poor beasts. He hoped his lanky frame could satisfy their hunger; at least, in his last moments, he could tell his Maker that his sinful flesh had been good for something.

 

One lion shook its head, causing its mane to flutter. Its eyes fell upon him and it licked its chops hungrily. From out of the corners of his eyes, Didymus could see the other lions circling him, seeing if he would put up a struggle.

 

"Come at me!" Didymus called out to the beasts. "I know you're hungry. I will not fight."

 

That command was enough for the lion in front of him. With a mighty roar, the lion bounded toward him, kicking up dust in its wake. Didymus let out a sigh and closed his eyes, baring his throat to the great beast. A shadow fell upon him and he waited for those sharp teeth and claws to tear through his flesh.

 

Instead, a warm body was pressed hard against his, and he heard the lion scream before uttering wet, choking noises. Didymus dared to open his eyes, his vision alternately blurring and clearing. For a brief moment, he thought he saw his father, whom he had never met.

 

"You have done well, my son," Marcellus Gallio said to him in approval.

 

The vision of his father vanished in a fog to be replaced by Mashiach's harried, worried face.

 

"All shall be well, Didymus," the Jew told him reassuringly.

 

As Didymus allowed the darkness to at last claim him, his final thought was _"It is indeed a glorious day to die!"_

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Mashiach nearly came close to panicking when he saw Didymus fall limp, his body practically dangling from the post. But he dared not divert his attention from the lions that were stalking him. There was a brief moment when he thought that he would not reach the Roman in time when the first lion attacked. His body was still in state of shock, his sword arm numb from the jarring vibration of his gladius piercing through the bone and flesh of the beast, now lying at his feet.

 

Breathing in deeply, he cleared his mind of all thought, positioning himself before Didymus' lax form with sword and shield in hand. Just in time! A lioness charged at him from the left. Mashiach brought his shield up as the beast leaped, lifting it off his feet, before driving the blade of his gladius into its belly. Another came bounding toward him at his right. With a grunt, he whirled on his heels and sent the carcass flying so that it hit the attacker, sending it sprawling to the ground.

 

However, the move left him open to attack from a third lion, which charged at him with its full weight so that they both fell to the arena floor. Before he could get his shield up, the lion slashed deep furrows across his bare chest, and Mashiach cried out in pain. Gritting his teeth, Mashiach kicked the lion off him.

 

The beast made to lunge back at him. From out of nowhere, one of Mashiach's fellow gladiators appeared and downed the lion with his spear. The Jew's jaw dropped seeing the other gladiators from Didymus' camp rush into the arena. Demetrius was among them, and he threw a net at a pouncing lioness, trapping it, and thrust a trident through its body. It did not take long before all the lions lay dead at their feet.

 

As Mashiach unhooked Didymus' bonds from the post, he heard the Emperor roar from his box, **_"GUARDS, KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!"_**

 

The Jew called out to his fellow gladiators, **_"STAND FAST, MEN! IT'S EITHER WE LEAVE WITH OUR MASTER OR WE DIE WITH HIM IN THIS ARENA!"_**

 

Then, the unexpected happened. Cassius Chaerea, who was standing beside Caligula, drew out his sword from his sheath. Mashiach gaped in shock and disbelief as Cassius leaned down and stabbed Caesar repeatedly. He watched, stunned, as the golden laurel wreath fell from the evil Emperor's brow and dropped into the dust of the arena.

 

 ** _"TAKE HIM AWAY, DEMETRIUS, MASHIACH!"_** Cassius roared at them. **_"BRING HIM FAR AWAY FROM THIS ACCURSED PLACE!"_**

 

The gladiators did not have to be told twice. As a body, they rushed out of the amphitheater bearing Didymus with them. To their relief, in the confusion of Caesar's assassination, not a single soldier went after them in pursuit.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

**_"WAIT! STOP!"_ **

 

Demetrius was leading the gladiators through the secret tunnel beneath the ruins of the Roman's estate when that frantic cry from the Jew rang out behind them. To his dismay, he saw Mashiach sitting down with Didymus' limp body on his lap. The Jew was trying desperately to wake the Roman up with light taps to his left cheek and sweet kisses to his lips. But, except for the slowing rise and fall of that bloodied chest, Didymus was unresponsive.

 

As Demetrius watched, Mashiach produced the robe from inside his tunic and swiftly but carefully wrapped Didymus up in it.

 

"My Lord, please," Mashiach began, tears falling down his rugged face. "Even when I was struggling in life, I never prayed to you. I know that I haven't been a good Christian, so perhaps my prayers don't deserve to be heard by you. But this man I hold in my arms…he has done so much, helped so many people. Even though he is not baptized to our faith, he is a good man, perhaps a better Christian than I could ever hope to be. Please, God. Forgive Didymus for all his weaknesses. I'm begging you. Please give him another chance. If it is necessary that I should leave him, so that my love will not taint him, I will do so. But I beg you to please heal him. I will do anything, Lord. Just, please, please heal him."

 

Demetrius felt his breath catch in his throat, remembering the time when he too had fallen on the wayside of his faith, believing that God had not saved his beloved Lucia. He had prayed just as earnestly then for his wife to wake up from her lengthy sleep and, to his great relief, Lucia had opened her eyes.

 

But then, from within the folds of the robe, Didymus' arm fell, the fingers of his hand spread and limp. Demetrius recalled a similar scene from his past—of the Christ being brought down from the cross, his body laid on the lap and in the arms of his mother Mary. The way Mashiach cradled Didymus…it was exactly the same pose.

 

Demetrius did not know if Mary had also prayed that her son be healed. Perhaps she had. Perhaps, like Mashiach, her prayer had been denied.

 

The former gladiator could only watch in tearful helplessness as Mashiach drew Didymus into his embrace, crying the word "No!" over and over again.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

**_Antioch…_ **

 

Peter smiled and blessed the child whom he had just baptized in the spring. The little girl gave him such a sweet, cheerful grin that he could not stop himself from giving her a kiss on the brow as well.

 

Her mother, a Greek converted to the Christian faith, bowed graciously to him. "Thank you, Teacher."

 

As the woman walked away, Peter was approached by Paul. He wondered if he had done something wrong again, and he certainly would not want to argue with the man. His arguments were certainly convincing. It dismayed him that his narrow-mindedness and apprehensions has led to Pau's being declared _persona non grata_ and thus would have to leave the city later in the day.

 

To his relief though, Paul did not bring up their troubles and remarked instead, "Peter, there are still so many people waiting to be baptized." He gestured to the crowd that had gathered. "I could ask Barnabas to stay with you and he will just follow after me to Jerusalem."

 

"No, Paul, I'll be fine," the apostle reassured him. "You need Barnabas with you. I wish things hadn't come to this. But you are a good teacher. I will pray that you shall bring more lost sheep into the fold."

 

"Uhm…excuse me, Teacher."

 

The two men turned to behold a young Jew dressed only in a simple tunic. Seeing his muscular build and the scars on his body, Peter was instantly reminded of his good friend, the former gladiator Demetrius.

 

"What can I do for you, my son?" Peter inquired kindly.

 

"I am a…gladiator…trained by the man called Demetrius," the Jew began reluctantly.

 

"Yes, I do know Demetrius. But what…"

 

Peter's eyes widened when the Jew stepped toward him and laid in his arms a very familiar robe.

 

Paul could barely stifle his gasp. "Peter…is that the robe of…"

 

Peter laid his hand over the garment for a moment and then looked straight into the Jew's eyes. "You are not the keeper of this robe."

 

"No, Teacher, although it has been entrusted to me," the Jew confirmed. "The true keeper…" He gestured toward the cloaked figure hiding behind a tree. "…He is reluctant to bring this to you himself. He feels that he is not worthy."

 

Peter turned his attention to the shy figure and sternly called out, "Come here, young man!"

 

There was a brief hesitation. Then, the man emerged from his hiding place and slowly limped toward them, leaning heavily on a staff as he walked. Reaching them, he slowly lowered the hood of his cloak, blue gray eyes throwing a disapproving glance at the Jew who merely shrugged. From his fine, handsome features, both Peter and Paul knew that he was a Roman. His physical beauty though was marred by the hideous scar on his face. They had no doubt that more gruesome wounds were hidden underneath his clothes.

 

"You are the keeper of Jesus' robe?" Peter inquired with a smile.

 

"My father was. I believe you knew him. His name was Marcellus Gallio," the Roman answered softly. "When Demetrius took me in as his ward, he placed the robe in my safekeeping, saying that it was the Christ's command."

 

"But you never felt that the duty should have been given to you because of **_what_** you are."

 

The Jew moved close to the Roman and wrapped his arms around him protectively. "Does the Lord discriminate against people like us, because we choose to love a person of our own sex? I tell you, Teacher. This man has saved so many lives. Should he be denied his wish to become a servant of Christ all because of a single weakness? If so, then God is unreasonable..and cruel."

 

"How dare you speak such blasphemy!" Paul declared. "You are abominations of nature! There is no place in the Kingdom of God for sodomites like you!"

 

Peter turned calm, but firm eyes toward Paul. "Ah, but haven't you chided me for doing something similar when I refused to dine with the Gentile Christians? Here you have a Gentile who wishes to join in the faith. Should we deny him the light of God because of his sins?"

 

"But, Peter, he is a sodomite!"

 

Surprisingly, the Roman said, "He is right, Teacher. I will not press my wish upon you, knowing what I am. May the Lord forgive me, but I cannot live a lie. This is who I am, and because of it, I have found true love." He laid his hand over the Jew's. "I am selfish and greedy. I refuse to give him up."

 

"And I believe God will not ask you to do so."

 

**_"BUT, PETER-!"_ **

 

 

"Just think about it, Paul. If Jesus did not believe him to be the right man, why did He entrust His robe to him for so long?" Turning to the Roman, Peter stated point blank, "The robe…it healed you."

 

"It did more than just heal him, Teacher," the Jew hastily put in. "The robe brought him back to life."

 

Paul fell silent at that revelation. For a sinner to keep Jesus' holy garment and then have the robe raise him from the dead, it truly meant that he was favored by God.

 

Seeing the acquiescence on Paul's face, Peter nodded approvingly. Turning to the Roman, he asked, "What is your name?"

 

"Didymus Gallio, Teacher," the young man answered quietly.

 

"Kneel, my son, and I shall give you a new name befitting a child of God." As Didymus did as he was told, Peter dipped both hands into the spring, filling his palms with water, and then let it trickle over the Roman's head. "In the name of Jesus our Savior, I baptize you Thomas Gallio. I would not want you to truly lose the name which your noble father had given you. The name 'Thomas' is Greek for the word 'twin', same as your Roman name."

 

There were tears in Didymus—no, Thomas' eyes—as the apostle bade him to stand. "Thank you, Teacher, although I know I do not deserve this, knowing full well that I will sin again and again."

 

"And you shall be forgiven, for as long as you stay true to one another. This, I promise you, until that I time I shall bid you enter the Gates of Heaven." Peter looked at the Jew. "And you? What is your name?"

 

"Mashiach Ben-Alharon, Teacher."

 

"The 'anointed one'. But I believe I shall give you a better name." He took some blessed oil from his vial and drew a cross on the Jew's forehead. "From henceforth, you shall be Christophoros. It means the 'bearer of Christ', but you and Thomas shall bear a burden just as heavy as Jesus' cross."

 

This said, Peter handed the robe back to a shocked Thomas. Before either man could speak, the apostle declared, "You are the true keepers of the robe. It shall be passed on among your children and your children's children until that time when Christ's Church shall rise to prominence in the world."

 

"But…but…how can we…"

 

"Go to Drepanium," the apostle said mysteriously. "There is a child waiting for you there. God will lead you to him. Give him your name. Care for him as though he were your own. Foster in him the fervent desire to seek out Christ's holy relics and let him pass on this duty to his children and their children. Although your names may be forgotten through the passage of time, know that a child from your line shall see the end of the cruelties of the Roman Empire which has caused you so much pain and suffering."

 

Although the two men frowned at Peter's comment, they bowed to him in obedience and walked away, bearing with them Jesus' holy robe.

 

"I hope you are doing the right thing, Peter," Paul remarked in clear uncertainty.

 

"God works in mysterious ways, Paul," the apostle said, smiling as he watched the Roman and his Jewish lover disappear into the crowd. "But I have no doubt that miracles will take place because of the faith those two young men have in the Lord and in each other."

 

 

_Postscriptum: In the 6th century, a child named Helena was born in the city of Drepanium in Asia Minor. Helena would later marry Emperor Constantius, from whom she would have a son, Constantine I, the first Christian emperor. Saint Helena was attributed to having discovered not only the Holy Cross but also had in her possession Christ's Holy Robe._

 

**Author's Note:**

> The gladiator information that I used as resource for this story was taken from http://www.tribunesandtriumphs.org/gladiators/index.htm. The definition of the terms that I used in this story can be found in this site.


End file.
